two glasses unwashed

sat upended fragile in their shine,

opened bourbon

a long mouthful held then swallowed

his bourbon her breakfast,

moving from one room to another

morning cool on skin

she wore only panties,

typewriter on oak

bold keys hold promise

again it was his

the cat shared moved onto lap

as sitting down,

chatter of keys as poetry flowed,

to him she was a disposable muse,

she did not care

being on all fours

fucked from behind

staring at cotton bed linen

her mind could think

without his face ,

all he needed was the mirror to pose,

weave of cotton held a story

as she thought of next poem

he too had release,

it was a kind of love,

they used each other in

different ways

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Comments
  1. adeeyoyo says:

    It does happen, fulfilling each other’s needs, and the needs don’t have to be the same!

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