Weekend Woman

We made toxic love

Saturday night.

Drunken moonbeams

crept through the window

And our bodies were

swallowed by light.

It felt kind of right

whispering into your skin

those words you absorbed and echoed


And the walls, they shook

with premonition

that soon it would all

transpire again.

You moaned,

I panted.

Everything just went elastic

and your legs, they stretched

beyond the bounds of Time

as your toes predicted the gush

that would rush

through your stomach

and out your thighs;

how your legs cried

when they were invaded

but moments later,


on satin sheets,

we spoke softly

and in melody.

I only met you last week,

but the music is more than worth

a replay.

You've probably read this by now

and I know from a couple missed calls

that you feel the same way.

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