Monday, April 30, 2012

Dimly Lit Room

by Rebecca Miller

Darkness fell -so did my slip, dress and heels.
He switches off the lights, I turn them on.
Absinthe scorches my lips, his thighs.
We tango hip to hip, my feet never touch the floor.
He trademarks my neck with his teeth.
Green nymphs parade across his shoulders as we dance.
Fast, slow, matching, pacing.
His smirk, a result of my rowdy lament.
Multiplication is my specialty.
Bound, by his coarse hands and palatable cologne.
I am useless.
He divulges my fabrications like a theatre production.
Ribbon working like chains, and it's his turn to bat.
I tease, he begs, I relish.
Edging too close, I bring him down.
Finishing line crossed,
He leaves me wanting.
A migraine replaces ecstasy's face.

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