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Angelina wants to fly
and stretches out her arms.
I take her strong brown hair in hand,
each strand wisping through my fingers
like a song,
knot it high on her head,
and tight,
like the laces weaving back and forth
across the sway of her stomach.
The girdle below her breasts
holds her wings,
holds her back just so.
Her alabaster ass a vision,
upturned and waiting for my touch.
I wet her there with oil,
slip in the plug,
and anchor her plumage.
Then I turn my little bird,
the feathers spilling from her
sweep over my feet.
I check between her waxed folds.
She is ready.
When I open the door to my nest,
a male preening another's cock
stops and smiles at her pale gray wings.
I urge her on with a slap to one cheek.
She steps to the bed of soft leaves
where the fledgling thrusts his hips to the sky.
On bended knee she takes him into her mouth,
and suckles him to the edge
before I ease her tail out of the way
to lose myself inside her
and make my new bird sing.
Copyright © 2005 by Laura Bacchi
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