"My head isn't working" she said to me, T'was a Kodak moment from the books of the blessed With a Road to Damascus air of clarity I had to ponder her words so lay down to rest.
Then she stood astride me and hitched up her skirt Politeness required I avert my gaze But like Paul I was blinded, an instant convert my nerve-ends lit up with my senses ablaze
A renaissance of fingertips, a dark age of flesh Underwear for benediction, its contents a grail Erotically domestic, in the kitchen we caressed Then rinsed out our mouths, the desire tasted stale
"Just yesterday, I threw myself away" Unclean words ripped through this disguise she was speaking once more like an action replay and harmless untruths shone straight from her eyes
Arms a-wrapped round and legs entwined too And verbal hygiene from between her teeth fled What was left of resistance was swiftly shot through And she smiled, clearly pleased at the tethered red thread