“Are you a virgin?”
Red-stained lips tickled my ear
As her hands slid down my slender chest
The woman had whispered to me.
I said yes
Her hair felt thick in my hands
Not quite black, but not brown
Aged and stained, and very strong
In the endless repeat of city weather.
Focused in on kicked-off heels
Her back made out in the obsidian polish
I was lost behind her, too short to be seen
But perhaps I liked it better that way.
A wave of pleasure
Lost within a second of her action
Trained too well to know what is superb
And what best suits the price of an inept man.
