“You’re so cute”
she continues,
“But I’m married”, she says
Her hands grasping. First innocuous, then closer and closer.
Brought to her dress. Smooth as silk. A mere film between something cool and something warmer.
Doe eyes look upwards to match mine with a measured intensity.
Blushed cheeks nearing. A sweet mouth primed for the lean in.
She, perhaps torn inside, but to the night’s chaos she trusts.
I, perhaps torn inside, suppressing the innate lust,
searching for the appropriate response and answer
while the tension and time ticks.
A flame of passion melts the wax of discipline,
First a burn, then a scorch,
down to the wick.
What is right and wrong mulls the body and mind,
with afflicted faculties blurred by the whims of whisky and wine.
To tarry to the bar in reprieve for another drink?
Or to surrender to the moment and indulge in another’s kink?
In the candle-smoke, I suffocate as stoic discipline walls me in.
A prisoner of my own irrational morality.
As my kingsized bed greets me
the next morning, empty.
Commentary: Removed “The dick thinks I’m a dick; a reference to a teenager screaming inside me”, in the first draft which i thought it was funny, but probably ruins the tone. Based on a Mood in 2023, during a clubbing night out