He imagines the spot he’ll cum- just beneath her Brazilian,
Where a star shaped birthmark guides his mind.
Beneath the glow of the cut price bulb
Her oiled breasts glisten-
Twisting her nipples she arches forth, fake flaxen hair
Falls seductively.
Tunnelling her mouth she glides a finger
Over cherry red lips.
It’s just a perk, a break from the sediment
Of married life. Its clear she’s pleased its him
How she smiles when the curtains part
Or gasps as he unclasps his button.
Of course, if she could, she would lend
Her slender hands upon his perfectly able penis.
She pities the fat fuck. How he
Has to fold back layers of skin just to find it.
Her breasts ache; he doesn’t know she’s on.
When she sweats, she checks for blood
Professionally bending over the broken bar stool.
Its just theatre for her, controlled sensual dance
Such an art to part her vein damaged legs
Always her dream to grace the ballet halls.
It happens not soon enough
Holding vomit as though it were her final breath
He cums over the cuff of his shirt.
Shrivelled and spent, stumbling from the booth
He sobs in an alleyway
As she mops up the milk of his indignity with her bra.
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