It isn’t my clothes that dragged him into my bed,
it isn’t my giggles that says yes to the stroking of my thigh,
it isn’t my eyes that beg for sweaty fun,
it isn’t my words that breathe out seducement,
it isn’t my skills that keeps this night fucking wrong,
and it definitely isn’t those several drinks I dangerously downed.
No, not at all. Not at all…
But it is the knowledge I attain.
Tagged as: spilled ink. poem. writing. questionable.