Hot And Present

She stepped into his suite, as per request, in miniskirt, a chiffon blouse and nothing down below. He made her wait, the scribbling went on and he could see she did, (all women do get bored) , her hand now strayed into her lap, two digits raised in languid expectation. He asked about it then and she replied, oh nothing Sir, but went ahead and looked into dilated eyes, legs well apart, there was no skirt nor would a skirt be missed, a flash of shaven pink, reflecting in its dew a miniature of Robin Hood, who nodded as he gazed into the valley called Beyond, a spring seems to have sprung, its flow a careless ease until a rhythm from within takes on a cadence of a life whose only purpose is to die repeated little deaths, each day a throbbing presence, light and gay his mouth attracted now to be within the essence of all sin. Hands busy, fleshy towers raising high two buttons soon competing, quick to swell, inside expansion, losing grip, a liquid tide without cognition's condescending sober ride.