B. E. Smith is a freelance writer from Utah. In addition to essay and article publications, his stories and poems have appeared in anthologies and magazines such as Gutter Eloquence, Zygote in My Coffee, Poetry Super Highway, The Legendary, Static Movement, and the delinquent. Currently, he lives in Salt Lake City and is writing a memoir.
Graduate Studies in 16th Century British Literature
shriek back and cover themselves
when men look at
that deep furrow of cleavage—
as if they didn’t understand
looking down from a woman’s bustier
finding her chastity belt locked
Gastronomy Enim Cogitation
and we had quaffed
many a fermented elixir,
she sprawled naked
back from the edge of the bed.
Kneeling between her legs
as my head moved forward,
erupted from my chest
and echoed through the bedroom.
“Oooooh,” she said squirming.
She chuckled and asked,
“Could you do that again?”
Iridescence in My Coffee
water tumbled out the bottom of the filter basket
thick steamy drops of soft water.
The decanter filled
while the coffee maker moaned and sighed
A long-standing, frigid lover
I lived with
couldn’t reach orgasm.
She didn’t like coffee
the smell of it drove her out of the house.
With a fogged mirror and window
I found her in the tub,
“The sex therapist said that if I trickled warm water over my clitoris,
it might stimulate me to orgasm,” she said.
I watched the water tumble out the faucet
fat, soft drops
a liquid probe caressing her.
When her divorce papers went through
when she had shaken her x-husband out of her head
when I had helped her reach orgasm,
she told me she didn’t need a man in her life anymore
she was a new woman of a sudden.
I moved to a basement apartment
plenty of sunlight
and an old boiler sighing and groaning
through the wall behind my headboard.
She spends most of her time at home alone now.
I prefer to sit in the breakfast nook
with my coffee
watching people pass the window
drinking nearly three pots a day.
Abstinence in Absentia
Two legs diverged in a bed
spread wide as apple blossom orchards.
Be it trimmed or a grassy patch of shaggy bushes
either leg had launched as many ships
and sunk the same.
I looked down both as lust would allow
to the confluence of war and peace.
Choosing the left or
the right leg
would make all the disturbance.