Boots

You had Jagermeister    
and we were drowned out by men      
dressed in war-time sentiments;      
eagerly stroking      
the community's protocol.      
      
While having another beer,      
you suggested that it would only take      
1 shot of what you were having      
to put someone like me      
down for the night.      
     
Our leather rubbed against each other      
and in their wake they either spoke to me,       
for me or about me       
but rarely ever just spoke.       
     
$200 worth of eroticism on your feet      
but at least they weren't home, alone      
Saturday from dusk to dawn      
carrying on in the corner of my bedroom      
with pg. 55 of "Re-fried Elvis."      
     
We were acrobatic, polygonal and obscene      
being welded into character;      
complimented      
by gestures and smirks      
about everything and nothing.      
     
After feeding those inhibitions      
to a no limit zone,      
there was a change      
in my social metabolic rate.      
     
Turning off everything      
that wasn't related to us;      
our babes      
would've been fiendish.      
     
But you tried to keep some distance      
for fear of spreading your cold;      
I didn't mind,       
since there was no better way      
of sex-ing,      
in a controlled environment.