in absentia  (audio courtesy Jestalessa)

You told me my poetry  
made you want to fuck me.  
   
I was so lost    
I thought that  
was romantic.  
Or, at least hot enough to    
let you peek under my skirt.    
   
Who wants to do  
the awkward  
seduction thing  
when we can just  
(fuck)  
get where  
we want,  
when we want,  
with who we want,  
right now.  
(Right. Now.)  
   
Plus, there’s no risk of those stupid dating  
faux pas, like bad breath or spinach in the teeth.  
   
Why bother with dinner first?  
Or small talk.    
Or a bottle of cheap wine.    
   
Right, then, so we’ll fuck.    
   
Because I turn you on.  
   
Just like that.    
   
(Wow. That gets me wet.)    
   
I already hated myself so    
I threw away my resistance,    
took off my panties,    
put on my guilt, and    
on a last-minute whim,    
checked to see if you have,    
poetically,    
what it takes to turn me on.  
   
You might.    
And I was dangling my  
dripping desperation    
above your prose —    
a double handful of    
fucks back —  
hungry to slide down    
into you when  
it hit me...  
   
My poetry makes  
you want to    
fuck me...  
   
Perhaps I should try me    
out for myself  
just to see how I feel,  
before I drop to my  
knees and stroke you  
in psalm.  
   
I fucked myself  
in slow detail  
with long words  
and harsh,  
broken phrases,  
like candlelight on a corpse,  
by the light of  
a crescent moon  
my back arching so hard    
my spine cracked with cliche....  
and...  
and...  
(yes)  
and holy shit...  
   
I feel like satin,    
and sin,    
and    
I don’t think I’ve  
ever  
gotten  
off that hard.  
   
I’m not sure if it was just me,  
or the way I phrased your name,  
so I might have to rinse and repeat,  
at least until you come back  
and show me how you think    
we should,    
poetically,    
fuck.  
   
(Then again, darling    
I’ve had myself,    
and you might suffer    
from comparison.)    
   
I also realized    
I’m not that goddamn easy    
anymore.  
   
You have to take me to dinner    
before I’ll sit on your lap    
and soak you in my    
coruscating words...    
   
take out will do.    
   
 
 
 
Author's note: Reading by the goddess Jestalessa, who I am taking out to dinner in the hope she'll take her sexy, sarcastic, holy-fucking-shit-yes-reading voice and sit on my lap.  
 
In other words: Thank you Jestalessa for the reading.