there the warmest place

 

so long since men’s hands
have slid down my bare-skinned back
i suppose that’s why i wore
my gingham dress tonight

too long the tomboy in jeans and t-shirts
and how can a man really be expected
to caress a likeness of himself?

so the dress fell from the hanger
to the bed, where it lay
as i chose my one other vanity
of sandals which show all my toes

i suppose i knew the moment
when his hands turned exciting
his breath fumbled around my ear
as too-soft fingers found my belly
and stayed there, the warmest place

heedful of my desperate good fortune
i closed lips around his noxious fumes
as he lay his beer-soaked tongue on mine
and searched my thighs a little too roughly

my two vanities now gone
i made sure to smile and murmur
and hoped that the morning
would find me alone

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