Erotic PoetrySelfishwhen the sheen of his skin
shone like a mirage
above her right knee
and the curtains hung just so,
when the steam of the steeped
tea laughed
its whistling song
and the pillows were piled
in a row
then the radio was turned
down low
and the ringer was set
to 'no'
and words she never thought
before tumbled down from her
onto his mussed hair.
more, she cried, more, more, more.
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