Cubicle Sex

Flirting again with boundary overload.
All those temporary surfaces
once designed for narrowly specific

normative tasks now restored
to a sensual rhythmic response
to messy energies so fragile

in their flux when he ran his fingers
through my faux fur. Whispering
raw testosterone prayers

as my tongue plumbed his shallow
depths. With pedal to the anal
and one hand on the wheel, he said,

the other text messaging a wife
in lieu of more embroidered pillow talk.
His snarl a dirty rictus, his cock

barking out lewd commands—
my lipstick the color of a Solo cup
floating in some fraternity pool—

fingerprints left on xerox glass
the only evidence we left
behind—all of it off the clock.

***

TIMOTHY LIU is the author of ten books of poems, including the forthcoming Don’t Go Back To Sleep (Saturnalia Books, 2014) and Let It Ride (Station Hill, 2015). He lives in Manhattan with his husband.

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