Cold, dead eyes stare back at me
through the cheap, smoky mirror.
Predator or victim?
A little more mascara,
another dose of Candy Apple.
Squint, blink, pucker, pout…
Good to go.
Oh, but, no;
the incessant base thump-thump-thumping
outside the bathroom door,
the goofy stares at my boobs –
like they’re some kind of hypnotic Sudoku puzzle;
I’m sure my butt’s bruised purple
from all the usual pinching and slapping.
A couple of hours ago Neicey and I thought this was a good idea.
Now, my toes are clenched in these pumps
and my head is lost in a cloud,
half high, half ache.
Yet all the while a pleasant warmth rises inside me…
The door opens, I quickly turn.
It’s Neicey.
Our eyes meet in a way they’ve never met before.
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