baby, it’s consensual outside
Thursday, December 18th, 2014I really can’t stay.
— But, baby, it’s cold outside.
Don’t call me “baby.”
• • •
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I really can’t stay.
— But, baby, it’s cold outside.
Don’t call me “baby.”
• • •
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Sometimes, it’s better
to curse the darkness while you
cuddle up at night.
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He zipped through her taut
pages, not quite focused on
the words but the scribe.
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The passage pulled her
back over and over, words
that tugged at her heart.
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Mystery room, light
bondage, full obedience,
three meals, no “Twilight.”
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She would, at times, find
her self pleasantly surprised
and somewhat amiss.
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They acknowledged their
passion with an intimate
and smoldering nod.
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Romance was a no-
good, two-timer, and love was
a four-letter word.
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The thoughtful words for
the inscription seared his heart
more so than the book.
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She swiped through one frog
after another, seeking
a digital prince.
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He feared he missed her
by a decade or two but
vowed to catch up quick.
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She and he walked through
the town square as night closed in
and they thought, why not?
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The leaves decided
en masse to give in and leap
to a certain doom.
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Achievement measured
against sweat turns up as a
lousy ratio.
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The best compliment
I paid the wretch was to keep
my mouth tightly shut.
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