A witness to the destruction of Pompeii

She is just a girl
of average height,
of no particular carriage,
but she has skills.

No one
can handle
HIM
with such grace and force

No one dares.

Room (appraised),
each curtain in place,
every pillow positioned
so…
she turns,
fingers moving,
lovingly, across
the riding crop’s
worn
leather-wrapped
shaft.

Candles flicker,
oil warms;
suddenly,
demanding lips
press into
tilted slope
of open neck.

Sigh-held,
thighs tingle
THAT
WILL
NOT
DO.

Palm
opens-
spinning `round-
to land
squarely
upon cheek.

He STOPS,
eyes afire.

“DISROBE”
she smiles.

Obeying, he
is bound,
body beneath.

With dexterity
drops of sweet
oil slip
from heated flagon
sliding across
reddened nipple
to excite.

He moans…
mount moving
(a spattering of white
spews forth)
too late,
oblivious
to the danger
at hand.

All that is beneath
quakes
exploding
with such eruptive force
that she is thrown
darkness descends—

has she displeased him?

Chaos ensues,
chest tightens,
hands seek
absolution,
heart slows; and,
with
reeling mind,
she becomes
stone.