I don’t say
You’re making me new to your eyes
They could be yellow if I could look
Above the floor your bright shoes
And you gave me your ‘slut dress’ so that I could
Give
Myself
At home in the quiet I jut my hips and
Massage my lips
With clay and
Wandering fingers edge my tips and
Because you believed me without being told
Because
You didn’t slip under me or over me
I miss that slick prick
Pushing through skin
Dredging up thick weaves
The sinful sighs
Come again
Solicited and moaning
And I’m silent about my dress
And he’s laughing and smoking
And I’m sucking