A friend once said
he is a creature of raw abandon,
exuding sexual pheromone
like an animal marking his territory,
making her want to grab him by the hair,
pull him into an alley
and do it to him, raw and hard.
I laughed but lacked understanding,
refined tastes had I
the primitive animal
was going to pound his way into me.
Give me the esoteric, the spiritual,
the “nice” guys who grovel,
always asking first before taking,
like children before the candy jar.
He offered soft whispers of desire,
I turned him down,
politely saying I was not
of that mind.
A massage said he,
to soothe raw nerves, undo your knots,
well . . . . . . . . .
undid the knots did he,
one moment coolly professional,
the next changing in rhythm,
leaning over to kiss sacred places
others usually need to be led to,
in raw flesh games.
and offered a slave bracelet,
made himself – a beautiful, expensive trinket,
no matter, I’ll just make more.
My knots untied,
when it is not payment for services rendered,
in dark rooms, atop tables, in primeval
urgings and lustful moans.
And dressing before it might begin again,
I scurried to my car, breathed a sigh of relief
as I drove away,
his guitar serenading
the roar of my engine.