expectations
are like handcuffs
with no key
leaving you tied
to your bed in a
compromising position
* * *
I want to grunt
and bury my hands
up to the armpits,
sway my hips
and dance my legs
around you
‘til I’m stained,
past possible
to clean.
Then I’ll come again,
blue and billowy
before you,
push my hair
behind one ear,
you sweet young thing.
So scrubbed
and oh so damaged.
Faded stains,
but never clean.
Nice alliterations.