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And the Curtain Falls
I feel like a slut tonight.
He softly brushes the loose chestnut curls from my shoulder.
with two curious fingers that trace a fixed path up and down my back,
though they yearn to veer off road and explore unknown grounds.
Exchange obsolete words that no longer hold the slightest sense of significance
as if we were at a flee market, such cheap words of such low quality,
ready to break with the flick of a finger, or two curious fingers..
Kiss him hard so he might mistake aggression for infatuation.
All for show, pretty little kisses for the highest price on sale,
to anyone who could afford the used woman they thought they needed.
Stumble into my charm as if you have lost your way home,
Stay lost and never found, although they never seemed to stay around,
but rather slip through my loose fingers, as I let them fall.
Twist his tongue inside mine, no longer aware of warped time.
Engulfed in the lie that I sell, who knew I could retail so well.
Yes, yes, I have fooled him into thinking he has fooled me,
with his smooth talk and soft touch. Another soft touch
and more burned kisses to litter my filthy skin; not a single burn felt.
No longer vulnerable to the very vices I convey.
ACT IV (Final Act)
Desperately grip every inch of skin in hopes to seize the intangible heat of passion;
as it climbs out the windows, knowing such an encounter was inauthentic.
We warm the bed, yet I remain frost bitten by the numbing chill of self-isolation.
Unsuccessfully so, the void fills to the brim with the loneliness I breed,
with the pride in my final act as it was ever so convincing to the blind believer,
captivated by my performance, my sick way of avoiding emotion.