Radon Daughters

I leave the brutal day behind
Submerge to the imagined lure of debauchery
A hotel bar home to hook and nook
Dual nylon liaison peppered with flesh and flex

Looking for someone to fit the frame of fancy
The image and gentle punch of pictorial
For real touch, actual kink for link
Like of lick to teasle lo squeasle

Old saying:
Do unto yourself
As you would have others
Do unto yourself

Faux sisters so in love with love
So in love with spring lovers
Pondering on the lovers coloring
Me outside the lines with spoons
And butter knives slapping sugar packets
Cross table, ashtray as lone player marooned

Introductions, Peter to the Radon Daughters in fishnet
Ready to kiss with vodka gin lips red and blue tint
So lovely in the neon of knight attraction
Attraction so dimly lit that cheekbones rose
Like models of popular distress
Needing rescue, white horse and long lance poised
Tucked at the ready

Soon popcorn greasy hand prints on all our thighs
Through worn jeans mine offer little but commitment
For dawn, for breakfast of the daughters of radon
Drinks and sloppy handling till the full moon
Slips, dragging its sad craters home to the buttside
Of earth,

Student nurses, graduated candy strippers,
Red and White twist studies in counter and clockwise rotation
Shared lubrication, dry winds from puckered lips
They share me and each others private moments
With strangers on the phone
A computer glows, a webcam is moved

About the room, their shared dorm is stainless with hooks
For all occasion, in the floor, walls littered, the toilet is solemn
In its solitary commitment to imprisonment
With cloth cloaked springs of pinching
Capabilities

They squeezed citrus between each others calves
And thighs, soaking the now tattered fishnet
Holes having grown
From finger and tool, organic, Petric and mechanical

Between the breast of faux sisters
I emerged and each converged
Spreading, saluting wet breath
Pleading before I leave to slide
With rapid motion between cheeks four
Slick with sweat from one
Spit from the other while parked
Rear to rear from above

What a wonderful dualism

They point on fours then threes each
Finding a head for their glorious cheeks
Craning to let me kiss as I so want
Each face now the most beautiful
Of any morning

New sun, the moon will remain
As full to our eyes next eve
Unless observed too closely
Usually an hour later
Arched higher
Pancake syrup and my own
Flavor remains between the memory