Saturday, May 05, 2012

The Room

The Room

You sat on my lap and my own jeans got wet from whatever
was happening in you. Yet, nothing happened, of it all.
You laughed at my jokes and even then it seemed you were
amused with my capabilities, instead of with what I had said.
We dined upon the best food and yet we were hungry.

You said you had never had a better time, and I doubted you.
Because I had. [Had a better time.]
And if I did, surely you did. Much better looking than I was.
And younger. And capable of so much more, than I am.
Perhaps we should blame the room. As in, what were we doing,

in the same one?

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2012 --

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