Shorted

my dress was one of plenty but on me, custom ordered because it suited you. You could touch my knee, inquire about my warmth with a brush on my thigh but you knew I’d stop you before I lit


almost wore the shoes that are as high as I try to be but I didn’t want to give away too much too soon. They were just fine in the sand and my skin, just fine with the lake’s cast off

and I didn’t know what the menu held besides the salmon and green beans that were somehow made into a specialty item, but you clued me in like I knew you could. Knew you would

just like you clued me in on the terrain you snuck me into. I felt the evening time rush while only spruces, pines and ponderosas bared witness to my first move along the board


you knew my twenty-five years hadn’t afforded me the references to your frame of thought, I thought my benefit of the doubt would be truthful if not fruitful


still, the prosthetic affection held my damned attention. While I emphasize the silver linings and sympathize with the shitty timing, my rational picked scraps from your willingness to be risky

and there had never been a roomier truck on a Monday night but you inadvertently had me straying from my younger days when the thrill stifled the screams of an egotistical kill


what kind of woman would invite you in, try to play sweet when she knew she had you on the edge of your seat? Would provide the flint then cringe at the unexpected realization?

the kind that knows her moisture sustains life on other planets, her breathe makes flesh come alive, that her tongue can lap the pressure and spit away grievances, I does this


but you hadn’t planned on paving the entire route, content with just scraping the curb after four months of a dry spell. It only took an ounce to make you levitate

and you hadn’t even ounce of the good stuff that’d really warrant the fuzz. You scampered back to your truck while I was left wishing for at least a buzz

(and thank you for showing me how naive I can really be)

– B. Brown

ViaDailyPrompt: Risky

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