She Laughs like ThunderClaps
and dances like Hot Mercury,
a hip drip slow poison that slides over your Skin.
I can't take
her high strung Highway
I am not allowed
her dew petal Lips parted over my Sleeping Chest.
Her Muscles, taut with the weight of me,
are not Mine.
Her wanderer's long and short strokes
are not Mine.
Her quick to Unclothe and slow to re-robe
are not Mine.
As much as I might will it,
her wide spread salutary thighs are not Mine.
I use her,
openly.
To the beckon of my Two Fingers,
she comes to me on all Fours,
slow wound round my Wrist and lit loose like Bottle Rockets,
to spit Hot fury all down my Palm
