Olfactory Conundrums of a Hum-drum Existence

My shoulders smell like your sweat.

I should soap up,

Should wash you out.

I’m sacred enough

I’m decently dirty.

Latex and lubricant scented everything,

All my corners, how you’ve kissed them clean.

What a thing to bend to,

Each joint angled toward a lustful embrace with your mouth.

I don’t even know you,

And you know so little of the world or the ways of women,

Yet.

Yet, you.

Skilled, some natural talent,

Gorgeous and you don’t know it yet.

“This is like a second g-spot for you, your lower back”

(I showed you how to hold me like he does. You learned well.)

You lift me into your arms,

Precisely, like some tiny, precious thing.

Press me me against the wall, a flower betwixt pages in a bible.

My moans escape into the courtyard and echo throughout the evening,

My everything captive to you for so long as you please.

So tall.

I could have used you,

Back when I had to hang the curtains.

I could use you.

So tell,

Tell me,

Should I keep you?

…

“Wow”

“What?”

“Beautiful. You. You’re beautiful.”