Yard Sale of Thoughts

The moon is a Peeping Tom
peering through the neighboring sky scrapper
spying on me with his oculus,
story by story.

And because I am not watching him, 
he watches me
as I remove my silk frock, the color of skin,  
the white bralette I'm unfastening; 
he zooms in, 
my backside curved to crescent.

The scrape of pearly teeth
as I pull out a pair of cotton undies,
slip into them.
Aglow in a hotel robe,
I'm globe-like and fuzzy;
a tease through gauzy curtain.

And because I am not watching him, 
the full moon sneaks a peak
below the white duvet, 
the soft Supima sheets,

to sniff the stardust underneath. 
I wonder if he'll masturbate 
while I'm asleep,
or simply store his stolen wad
in a cosmic sock drawer,
for the coming weeks.

Flesh the color of fresh laundry,
phlegm in a bedside glass,
goo collected from
the weak and weary, but
ready for the upcoming darkness.

©2024 | K.F. Hartless

---

Bright Eyes (feat. Cat Power) “All Threes”