Poetry 'n Prose

Casual Sex

Without denial there is something

in that short-order chef smile

in the way I make love instantly

groping for substance, it’s there

but she doesn’t believe

in tenderness above and beyond

the call of duty.

“Take me now”, her eyes demand

“come on you bastard, fuck this”

a sweet girl; the legs wide open

but the the mind is closed

as we start flirting in this overpriced bar

and soon enough I took her

back to the bed, I want to come

over her belly

squirting like mayo on a bap.

She tells me that she thrives on that

on these moments; being hard fucked

like some cheap whore as I propped

her onto the bathroom sink

bodies sweating like athletes

She spits in my face and laughs

like a bastard, I didn’t even blink

It’s anything but casual sex.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

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