candles lit, music's right
I've got plans to ****** tonight
,
I'm in charge .. you like it .. Ok?
going to control you in a most sensual way

I've taken care to dress real nice,
I'm going to blow you .. with ****** spice

I start to undress, start to tease
I wont be happy till your on your knees

we start to kiss, silk skin caress,
your getting hot, a seduction success

as your hands start to roam.
its too late .. your not goin home

now our clothes are on the floor,
both naked .. cept for Christian Dior

I start to moan, beg and plead,
In doin so .. i increase your need

(c) mandy rigby 22.05.2014

(thought I'd have a go at ****** poetry)

Was it us, perhaps, and our stubborn ways,
         leading a familiar inharmonious song
in hopes one day
will maybe learn to appreciate the              
   rhythm,  
if the tune played on too long.

the ****** on fifth street
don’t ask you to buy whiskey;
they take it from you.

there are too many
words—lascivious, lewd, *****—
used to describe them.

and too many names—
**** ***** harlot ***** *****—
used to deride them.

you want one tonight
someone who’ll snort ketamine
whose laugh sounds like bells.

someone to talk to
for thirty bucks an hour;
the best ones come cheap.

the best ones come drunk
(when they’re not doing molly)
and dance in the street.

the best ones wear rouge
that glows under streetlights and
rubs off on your lips.

the best ones **** quick
and leave quicker—out through the
back door, and lights out.

we lit up
on the flame of one another's company
the smoke doused us in laughter
and the sky
was big enough,
just for a little while

we were infinite:
more terrified of blinking
than being too small

chewing on black holes
just to pass the time

leaving a fingerprint
with no identity attached

but the black holes got sour
and we spit them out
with the stray embers
caught on our bitter tongues

we buried the cigarettes in the dirt,
footprints their only grave marker