This Woman
This woman trips into me,
hair licks a hungry neck,
her legs the distance between
the floor and what I want,
her eyes the opiate
the till, the change.
Fingers flutter like moths
about the snap of a purse...
Eyes searching,
smile welcoming
'Hello,' I say
'Didn't I see you earlier?'
lips slip, stumbling over the truth,
each letter uttered with sweet guile,
mouth left parted a tooth width --
my wallet flip,
the contract,
signed.
I breath an hour into her ear,
an apple with the pips nipped,
leaving the sweetness not the mud.
she sinks knowingly,
eased by familiarity,
cradled in a moment
lived before.
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