No, Not Once

She didn’t kiss me,
No, not once.
Though her fingers trailed, hot, on belly and rounded mounds
and snaked through my hair and grasped
and exposed my throat and bit.

With her fingers she unfolded me,
Like petals not yet yielding, ‘til she slowed to coax
And pressed an outstretched palm between my shoulder blades
Pushing me down, down and into a mirror
To subserviently watch her take me, slap me,
leave marks on my reddening bottom.

In the gilt mirror, through half closed eyes
I saw her admire her own form, candlelit
and ideally carved, and I wondered
if my breasts made up for other parts.

She breathed into my ear and whispered
what a slut I am for letting a stranger fuck me.
the shame elicited a moan and
I twisted and rolled and she rolled inside me
as if she could feel sympathy pleasures.

Caressing and slapping and pulling she took
while I quivered, plummeting, insecure, in hope
because she cradled me in her arms
as shame and delight ripped through me.

With a careful finger she traced an unbroken line
on my forehead, eyelids, nose and lips.
She blew out the candles and held me.
She was so warm against me.

But, no.

She didn’t kiss me,
No, not once.