I loved the way she put on her silk stocking,
Slow, deliberate, never a wrinkle,
Her big, blue eyes, nothing short of shocking.
Glinting, like they contained a small sprinkle
Of faerie dust, but she was no faerie,
The devil was in this one, oh god yes,
“Going somewhere Jack?”, she said in an airy,
Breathy whisper. “Well Candy, I confess
There are worse places I could be tonight”,
As I draped my trenchcoat over the back
Of her dressing table chair. “You’re a sight
A man would be a fool to ignore, rack
Me up another beer…”. The neon light
Outside the window flickered right through the night.

Words: Martin G. King
Image: Steve A. J. Beijer


2 thoughts on “Tibialoconcupiscent

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