Thursday, September 18, 2014

Old friends

Escalator voyeur

Your skirt sways languidly
sine-wave kelp of tropical seas
caressing pale skin
and I stand rooted
the soft perspective of your rising form
escalatory sin

My lips touch the back of your knees
hands drawn upward by the warmth above your thighs
you moan and tussle my hair
my tongue plays out my mind
my show hits metal, I trip
sprawling flat on my face
what pathetic man am I?
you are gone without a trace.

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