Jane the Artist

It was awkward the first time,

I had her naked in an instant,

Before, she hurriedly,

Splashed her sheets around her,

Pushed me away,

And retreated,

To one corner of the bed.

 

I was naked.

And confused.

 

‘I love looking at you,

You’re beautiful,’

She said.

 

I blushed.

 

Embarrassed.

 

Why had I,

Removed my clothes,

Before she did?

Why,

Did I let this woman have me,

At a rope’s end?

 

‘You are art,’

she said.

 

I wanted to put my cloths on.

 

She retreated from under the covers,

And goodness,

What a beautiful body I saw,

That,

I took ‘pon my hands,

Her half inch waist,

Hugged by my arm,

Her nails clinging on to my back,

And my hand soft upon her neck,

Nailing her, to the bed.

 

She went off,

In retreat again.

 

‘You cannot hurt me,’

The duvet,

Was saddled up to her chin.

Her voice spoke in a tremble.

‘It is my first time.’

She said.

That’s what she said.

 

I love how she looks at me.

I, look at her,

Like a hungered crocodile,

At a thirsting buffalo.

 

I asked her what she wanted with it.

She said she did not know. That,

Virginity, is not things she thinks about.

 

I put my pants on,

And wore my shirt,

From out the door.

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