Images that linger

[An experiment in poor poetry]

Brick column, blackened
showing rusty where the bar light fell
on two sides
stayed out of my way this time
sparing me another cut on the forehead.

Long and lazy bar
yellow overhead spotlights
revealing bikini girl's behind
fat man's goatee
hands on legs, on drinks.

Barmaid counting cash
a couple in shadows with the
shadow of a dancer, decapitated,
reflected in bottled mirror
overseeing summer seduction.

One dancer, one customer
sizing each other
one for money, one for flesh
meeting at the edge
staging a fantasy

White girl, white bikini
black hair, black fishnets
heels to kill or to spill
but soft voice and eager smile
reveals her inexperience.

Posing and presenting
bare tits on unshaven jaw
all natural flesh
squeezing out the scent
of perfume and pheromones.

Legs spread wide, heels in the air
bulging middle mound offered
for closer inspection
and manual evaluation
ready for the raging rod

Where are her admirers?
In a corner, after her set
she sits alone gazing
at nothing in particular
as everyone minds their business.

In a berth in the back
disoriented until the compass
points north heading for
foamy bliss with the help of
a first rate first mate.

Top off and lining up
one mound on the other
begining a rhythm without stoping
risking denim burns
and swollen lips.

Leaning back hands on knees
weight of melon breasts
proudly separating and dropping
them to the sides with nipples erect
inviting caresses and squeezes.

A single mole, a satellite
between two orbs
focusing attention on the undulating flesh
but not distracting from
the steady rhythm of the hips below.

white puffy triangle
expanding, contracting as
pelvis pits pussy against prick
and layers of cloth soak
in the mist of fantasy.

Bright sunlight and outdoor diners
at the relocated restaurant
never see the wet spot
covered by shirt tails
flattened by the damp city air.