No Man's Land

No Man's Land

There was little in the indigo-blue haze of
midnight -- nothing to have raised
his suspicions or desires.

It was not the tell-tale scent of
another man's breath -- none lingered
on her lips as he smeared himself
across them. Yet he forced himself

on, in, unforgiving -- thrusted, as a fist,
into her, where the memory of last night
may still reside, riding
the cadence of lust, with
the intent of ripping it away.

He peeled open her
hands, held them against
the mattress, licked the sweat
from her palms with his tongue,
searching for the flavor she might
have held that wasn't his.

His epiphany came when he realized
that what he smelled, wanted, tasted,
belonged to no other
man
at all.

Poetry