Dirty Dirty Boy

“That’s that,” she said
grabbing her things and heading for the exit
quick-step reverberating off the mahogany floor
and potted plants whose roots were
still finding their way in the soil
enough poise for a lifestyle magazine
no backwards glance, no discussion
another good woman on her way out.

Could’ve armed himself with etiology and statistic
but not even the best of prefrontal inhibition
can measure against the filthy morality
of a juiced-up hedonist
in pursuit of that good feeling.

Gone at the first sign of trouble
it bubbles and pustules
biding its time in nervous
ganglia, waiting for the host’s defenses to wane
among the ruins of all those broken rules
three ugly words
where two almost-strangers lied
tossing and turning away the night.

This fact of the matter blisters
bleeding tongue stained from biting down
the outer form corrupted as the inner
she tasted rust inside his mouth
in the art of first dates
there are no second chances
at deception just
a ceramic ship buoyed by optimism
so long as both passengers can see a horizon.

The flavor of the week
bitterly chic
with one hell of a lingering aftertaste.

She’ll probably be okay, emerge
mostly unscathed — yet all the calculus
of his choices has left him with are
a million little reasons why
he is not so bad
only selfish and human
how tragic.

She is already gone
he must not lose her again.

 

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