Tortured

Her bra drops to the floor from underneath
Her shirt.  Her shirt remains.  She smiles
At me fiendishly.  “Would you like to watch
Me dance?”  I nod.  I needn't have, I know.
She writhes and her breasts beckon to me.
I reach out, but she steps back and shakes
Her head.  “It isn't time.”  I now wonder
Whether I'll survive to see the evening through.
If I do, I fear that it will prove to be
Quite long.





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 35 times
Written on 2022-06-30 at 00:05

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