Mother Laundered My Sheets

 
Mother we could have avoided 
these long years of 
chilled bitterness.
I was your heart's desire,
you stroked my legs -
more shapely than a girl's you said
You told me over and over 
how beautiful I was!
You shushed father to 
catch every sound 
from my my teenage bed's 
nightly squeaking. 
Each morning you stripped
 my bed sheets clinging 
to your breasts and mouth and 
you breathed me in.
Sitting close to you my penis 
aroused under filmy shorts,
 you felt gently
 along its length, your thumb 
on one side, 
your forefinger on the other.
You wondered if I should wear 
a jock strap outside our house,
 so jealously you kept me.
I too made excuses for you 
to see me naked especially 
 when eros brought deep
 inner complexes closer to awareness.
Like that night in the motel room on the trip east
 - if father wasn't there
 and if we could have thrown out the taboo
our desire wouldn't have atrophied into 
chilled bitterness.