She tasted bitter and stale
And pursed her lips, but frowning take me like this.
Busy buttoning her blouse in a way that begged me
to tear it off, she sang, It’s like all things, you must make
the bed before taking the girl.
My fingers laughed their way down her back
and around the knots of her hips,
pulling her skirt up
I’d rather sleep on the couch then.