You leave them all over me, just a few, always. No wonder women circle you like asteroids… No, like cats in heat. Indian hot sex God, but don’t I need your calloused hands on me. Lord, I need you to stay with me, to, just this once, let that deal go, let that victory elude you; but, I cannot ask. The dark metal ring on your hand, your steel watch, your thick belt, with its steel buckle, your black pants. “You’ll be late for your flight” I remind you. But you are mine and I am the only cat in heat you need. “You’ll be late for your flight” I remind you. It’s biological. God, but don’t I need your calloused hands on me. I am beautiful in this, I don’t doubt as beautiful as you thought I would be when you bought it. You let me be. I note the dark blue shirt with its white pearl buttons, your open collar, revealing that gold cross, just large enough to look perfect between your collar bones. My eyes follow you through the mirror. No wonder men follow you.
