She moved in close, timing each fluid
movement with a measured countdown
as her body swizzled, breathless
through the room’s cavity.
She was a mayflower pioneer,
escaped from a foreign sweated land.
Silk panties damp, beneath a second skin.
He’d tasted fragments of stories
akin to this before, drank champagne
in the night, this slipped down easier.
He noticed her erotic movements, blue
bedroom eyes under her parted hair.
If he was a journalist she’d be a first
edition, unbound, peeled, hot
straight off the morning press.
