Give her a whirl; make the siren sing.
The prompt, echoing in my head
as she draws like Betty, so
familiar with the female form
Yet with some reluctance
a hesitance to
give in
to the urges
that dare to
Overwhelm.
Lights reflecting off metal structures,
blurred by each revolution of passengers
on their own questionable journeys.
But to them I can pay no mind.
My eyes I cannot tear away
from chestnut bob,
miniature backpack,
wonders that it holds,
thrifted, sporty romper,
a challenge.
A touch
on the arm
as a hall of mirrors
claims the last sense
Of reality.
Placards that conflict
Stop. Go. Wait.
While tongues begin
work like juicers
behind a bar
Efficient
Providing pleasure, flavor,
textures brought
to the mouth, unfiltered,
bypassing the accompanying
glass filled with bubbles.
Spilling over into puddles
of nectar, sweet
but sharp with acidity
the combinations endless and gratifying
in ways more sustaining
than even hydration.
Not to be let off so easily,
insatiable, she pursues.
the thrill, ultimate,
Devastating,
yet empowering in its
dynamic pull.
This journey
exposed together
embracing the possibilities
a seminal lack of romanticism
Betrayed only by intimacy.