Honey, you've taken to calling me honey
But what name will you cry out
when my silk scarf covers your eyes
and I'm smearing lipstick on your nipples?

Silk would suit you, I think. Tied behind your head
I could bind your hands with silk
Watch your fingers curl, your biceps tighten
As I unbutton your shirt, dampen the hair on your chest and stomach
Will you struggle? I'd like that

If you wanted both the tenderness and the bite
And could whisper so to me in that hot dark

I'd take you in my mouth to taste
then slip you inside me, slick, thick
I'd tighten around you, the best caress

And it wouldn't matter what name you called out
Because the marks on your neck would be mine

The couple in the middle

At the high school they dance in a closed circle, facing inward
so that no one gets in trouble for grinding

Grown up, at the bar, my knee finds yours
a spot of privacy under the table. No less erotic, no less public

You buy me a drink. I buy you a drink. Friends encircle us.

The couple in the middle, at the high school
Dance back to front, or face to face with thighs spread
There's a contract there, or play towards one
In the winks and grins between friends; between performers and audience

Our group's conversation has fragmented already when
your fingers brush the back of my knee. I continue talking to whomever,
pressing my knee against yours
as your palm rests on my thigh, in full view

Everyone hooks up eventually. If not this dance, another
And each eventually pretends not to see the other,
passing in the hallway as if they
never knew the taste, or smelled the sheets

There's no avoiding the endgame
Because gravity itself grows stronger when I'm near you
and I can't help leaning into the event horizon