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Last night, I requested a quiet storm;
defining it to be the paradise of cooperation without suspicion.
I pressed play and she agreed to join in this equation
we attempted to be, briefly and ever so flowing.
I must admit, we were not our suppressed forms of the day,
the suit and skirt majored in dollar signs, deprived of lustful bareness.
And yet the moon promised to compliment the sky in memory
of our slow drag these previous hours.
I recall the bass as ever so tempting, a taboo persuasion;
she swayed in imitation of the smoothest crime to guide
through these guilty hands.
Two hours into symmetry, the portrait of sweaty candles
and the common skip of track six were indeed familiar. The faint and
exhausted sight of pearls settled at our feet, as the ordinary
and mundane cease to exist; only the mark of flesh is left to adorn.
How sweet the hours have come to be,
as the cherry pie has not forgotten that first time, another time that never shuffles.
Still, tattoos such as last night keep matrimony afloat. As the crown of Sirius
edged through the window pane, there laid a Queen’s descent into a state of peace;
and dare I not disrupt this one flesh by refusing to retire the night myself.
So I said good night with the ease of chemistry.
Other motions of this earth…may now continue.