deepundergroundpoetry.com
harlot saturday night
up & down the avenue, garish neon lights up the night like
solar flares on psychedelics. the only retreat is the bars,
where the girls sit solitary or in pairs, flashing their subdued
sexiness: long hair, short dress, heeled sandals in summer.
I could strike a match & drop it on a trail of perfume that
leads me to a doll who is maybe on the run from romance,
but it doesn’t dim the curious flecks in her eyes. her heart’s
on lockdown, but her body craves to be booked & fingerprinted.
she’s a woman in charge of her days, who comes to this tawdry
playground to invoke the she-devil between her hips. find a
cave-man with the tools to do what he’s created for, get what
she needs, then kiss him goodbye. & I look disposable, it’s my
stock in trade.
well placed hands & suggestive whispers, highlited by my lips
on her ivory throat, get us primed for a walk to the motel down
the block. hard kisses in the moonlight melting through the
dappled curtains; grabbing her in the places where she wants
to be grabbed.
as she slips out of her dress, I drag my nails across her back. we
set fire to each others flesh with our hands, then quench the
flames with our wet mouths. she skillfully loads me into a condom,
& we engage in our carnal tango; the primitive joy of a hardcore,
primal fuck.
when the sex is so outrageous, I forget I’m with a stranger, a
pick-up, & at the crazed height of my passion, the foolish words
escape like wild horses – ‘I love you.’ then I try to ride through
it, like it never happened, but kinda hoping that she’ll say it too,
with her perfect mouth, in the perfect dark…
because a man always believes it
but a woman never does.
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