Untitled Love Poem
“Danger is a hazy concept. We never know the exact probability of an unfortunate accident."
-Rick Archer
(curtains drawn, myself displayed),
her warm breath against double panes
Beckoning, no longer waiting on chance
encounters when routines are static.
Semi-hesitant words run rampant
out of my morally deficient mouth.
She enters, seduced.
She says she’s on duty, false protest
The red jacket then, I tell her, can stay
Arms from behind swallowing her whole,
I thumb open her buttoned denims and slide
down the zipper, her jeans, and patterned cotton
until there’s just her goosebumpy thighs
delicate and private, delightfully underexposed
A sigh is just a precursor to a moan.
She says she’s on duty, false protest
The red jacket then, I tell her, can stay
Arms from behind swallowing her whole,
I thumb open her buttoned denims and slide
down the zipper, her jeans, and patterned cotton
until there’s just her goosebumpy thighs
delicate and private, delightfully underexposed
A sigh is just a precursor to a moan.
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