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I make myself feel like home in this hotel I barely know.
There is a mirror screwed to the wall, parallel to the bed
begging to witness fantasies unfold.

I practice posing
pretending to share the arousal with someone else in the room.
Thighs spread slowly as I crawl across the Queen sized mattress,
dressed for business.
The mirror
captures the curves of my hind side
moving up and down
Body looking sharp, and
loose around the edges.

I leave the moment, return with a favour in hand.

How many hands are in seventeen fingers?
Seventeen fingers frisk my skin
Seventeen fingers kiss me flat on the lips
I commit a primal crime
taking more than my share
handling a fragile package without care
Sleeves shift from the embrace
forearms bare
firearms expand
as weapons of mass destruction expose
and the invisible guard falls from our hips to the floor

I had to show you where to place your hands on me
Why don’t I remember your name?

Britta B.


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