Detritus

Detritus Sitting there, honey, Cleansed and bathed, Scented with lilac and rose, Glistening at your dressing table, and Eyeing yourself in the chrome mirror; I, as your guest, sit by and watch, Astonished at your well-intentioned revealings, Seeing your young beauty at morning tide, As hands and fingers apply the detritus, To nineteen year-old eyes, awash in teen wisdom. I sense there is something you want to say, As you lean toward your reflection there, Smearing scarlet on wet open lips, Your unbuttoned camisole dangling loosely, Upon your shimmering backside, But finding a foothold upon your upturned breast. And here I sit, astonished again, At the perennial return of one endless ritual After another. Zounds! Do you realize I cannot resist you? Yet it makes me wonder, If you want me to make love to you. Yes, I wonder. Well, shall we just dispense With this slow dance in the darkness? Look at me! Zounds! I will make you dance!