it’s
rare to stare at what’s not there
buying
her drinks was truth or dare
she
took my hand, a room upstairs
i
would have followed anywhere
her
hair was black, her eyes were brown
on
cotton sheets she held me down
my
hands were bound by both her breasts
i
brokered words as to invest
her
index finger on my lips
then
quieted by a soft kiss
neon
light flashing outside
like
waves upon which she did ride
the
crest completed in a crash
upon
my shore a black eyelash
was
left behind for me to find
a
keepsake that will now remind
of
cotton sheets seared by our heat
surrendering
without defeat
***
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