This is not about sex

This is not about sex

but he painted milk shake streams across my honey desert sands

and drew graftiti with the aftermath

I was the canvas to his glorious masterpiece of release

Let’s go back about an hour ago

he was tugging at bra clasp

the haze of cognac hung heavy in his breath

and I sampled the air for toxicity levels

was he aware of the direction we were going?

Should I pull him over and take the wheel or…

 

What happened in between was a love scene

for private viewing only

What happens next to the union is a mystery

and maybe the solution to avoiding this limbo

is to hold back til Mister Man

decides to set the tempo

I’m willing to dance to

 

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