She’d spread like clockwork,
Her words
And far from
Those
Ample
Black stockinged
Legs –

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

She’d came to me,
Me and alone
With my return to home,
A bottle,
A thought or two
And
Solitude
Prior the her –

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

And when three came to
Be,
And to “be” meant to
Close,
Followed soon,
Our kiss
Amid a mid-July
Parking lot,
She’d retreat –

“I’m not going to sleep with you,”

And retract

“Take me home,”

I did.
And when it came time,
That special moment,
Few and far for some,
Every other day for
Others,
I snuck away to the stars,
Slid beneath a pale green tree,
Took a swig from the swiped
Beer
And imagined myself having
Just dodged a bullet.