Short Work Tall Order

Short Work Tall Order

Every job
Is a payoff.

Work
Is its own
Reward.

The key
Works fine,
And the door
Opens.

She stands
On the balcony
In a cool breeze,
Wearing only
Evening.

The drink
In her hand
Stirs itself
As its glass straw
Swirls
Each breath.

The door
Automatically
Closes
As
I walk
Across
The room.

My hands
Glide
Down
The front
Of her gown
As her back
Presses
Against my hips.

She shuts
Her eyes
As her chest sighs
Its avalanche
Of need
And complications,
As we say
Not
One word.

My grasp
Enters
Her anticipation,
And her glass
Loses its
Final sip
With a faint
Gasp,
And the money
Is on the table.