long game

it was the seemingly inconsequential posture          
that I struck;          
rerouting invisible currents          
into infection so subtle                   
         
that it bypassed the defense    
of first impression.          
         
         
a slight shift in weight      
relaxed hands         
veins inflated, unseen          
ready to strike          
         
romance as a martial art          
         
         
It was the brute language;          
that hid academy          
and revealed calloused experience          
that told her to stay away,        
         
but back-burner me.          
         
         
the sanctity of private thought          
proved not so safe          
as what I intended unsaid, but delicate          
worked its way under her fortification    
   
and         
         
stitched transparent fibers          
into the fabric of her panties;          
     
speaking discrete kisses          
into the earlobe of her temple.          
         
         
It was the sincerity    
and balance          
of vulnerability with confidence                      
that made her want to clamp          
moist velvet-held embrace          
   
around my funneled point of focus.          
         
         
I knew when I met her          
that I would sacrifice the immediacy          
of social acceptance          
to eventually          
         
when, the art was just right          
         
fuck the goddess out of her