We had held hands 5 months long. Enough.
I turned towards her slight figure.
'Go short-time with you'
She started, looking quizzical.
'Now?"
Her eyes were slightly liquid in the Cowboy gloom.
During our latency she had eroticized grotesquely
Upstairs I understood we might not.
When she lay down calmly, on her back, somewhere between insult and indifference, her nakedness alarmed my eye. I looked for an imperfection to get some purchase.
Fucked already tonight? I wondered to justify myself
An age passed. Clearly no way she was going to .
Months later she would say: 'up to customer to fuck'
Perhaps it would have been better if the room were darker.
© Icarus. All rights reserved by the author.

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July 1, 2008, 02:05
Icarus, not a prose poem, but a poem and a very nice one. I like the way it builds up to that telling last line.