No Strings

She comes over sometimes
A couple times a week at most

She walks into my room like an awkward silence
We make awkward feeble attempts at conversation
A guise to distract us from the reality of our sordid arrangement
Honestly we have nothing to talk about

Nothing in common except our need to feel something.
and scratch that itch without the strings and politics society has tethered to it.

Then all pretenses drop and we get to the main event
I quickly liberate her from the confines of her blouse
I flick her bra expertly off
I slide her skirt up over her waist
Nothing underneath
She knows why she came
We both do

I shed my clothes and my inhibitions
All thoughts of conversation forgotten
We let skin speak on our behalf
The language of those who have nothing else to offer
And we're oh so fluent
Liquid

It's rough
Clumsy
Asymmetrical
Groping
Touching
Not feeling

The occasional moan breaks the silence
Letting me know I'm doing it right

A chorus of sighs as we both get where we need to be

I roll over
Sweaty and Panting
A moment passes...maybe two

She gets her hair in order
Well...she tries
Rights her skirt
Slips on her blouse
It's all rumpled now
(Oh well)
And then she leaves without a word

I grab a cold one...might watch a movie I'm not sure