She didn't even want to, then thought to do it.
Trying to send such silky experience, over here
to touch my rigid softness...moons why..?
For what, to know me, the I of it, inside of me? but why..?
Had I fallen in her, the trap, rimed in pink folds of heavenly
she would have slain me, drained me,
Eaton me, milked me
it, he, the me, in her, but why..?
I am hard, harder than buttered pecan trees,
she is a professional,
sex is her weapon of choice, her graze.
I should have then, wept throaty,
gutturals of both spread in ways..only heaven knows why..not?
Is It Poetry
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-professional-woman/
