long game

it was the seemingly inconsequential posture          
that I struck;          
rerouting invisible currents          
into infection so subtle                    
          
that it bypassed the defense    
of first impression.          
          
          
A slight shift in weight      
relaxed hands          
veins inflated, unseen          
ready to strike          
          
romance as a martial art.          
          
          
It was the brute language;          
that hid academy          
and revealed calloused experience          
that told her to stay away,        
          
but to back-burner me.          
          
          
The sanctity of private thought          
proved not so safe          
as what I intended unsaid, but delicate          
worked its way under her fortification    
    
and          
          
stitched transparent fibers          
into the fabric of her panties;          
      
speaking discrete kisses          
into the earlobe of her temple.          
          
          
It was the sincerity    
and balance          
of vulnerability with confidence                      
that made her want to clamp          
moist velvet-held embrace          
    
around my funneled point of focus.          
          
          
I knew when I met her          
that I would sacrifice the immediacy          
of social acceptance          
to eventually          
          
when, the art was just right          
          
fuck the goddess out of her.





*note: a reworked older piece, and entry into Miki's "overlooked" comp