one drop more

She stalks into the bar,
barely dressed
with a perfect face
and the kind of skin
that should be touched
and remembered.
As she walks
between strides
her thighs
push against her skirt
and she acts
like we don’t notice.
Her lips
ready to kiss
and a neck
like something unheard of,
she’s caught us all
without even a thought,
just a simple idea
among those
with ample imagination.


About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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