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Poetry By: dadio


Submitted:Jul 25, 2010    Reads: 56    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

The senora
Always gave you
Disdainful looks

The warm morning
After you came
In late at night

Or in the cold
Early hours
On the bright wings

Of the full moon.
Her stare was well
Known to almost

Freeze you in your
Tracks when you came
To enter the

Dining room of
The small hotel
Where you lodged for

A while. She'd stand
There by the door
With her taut arms

Folded and her
Thin lips pulled tight
Across her face

And exuding
Menace and her
Eyes following

You as you crossed
The floor to your
Table and sat

Down waiting for
Breakfast to come
Via one of

The downtrodden
Poor maids who would
Mutter softly

Some unknown words
As she lay your
Bowl down and she

Knowing as well
As you that the
Senora's eyes

Were piercing you
Both as if you
Were secret young

Lovers caught in
The throes of hot

And once the maid
Had walked off with
Her small but neat

Sexy wagging
Ass behind her,
You gave the grim

Senora a
Quick glance hoping
She'd gone off to

War or engaged
Herself in some
Domestic chore.

But no, she was
Still staring, her
Eyes focussed on

You, her arms still
Folded, her breasts
Heaving, her low

Muttering voice
Filtering the
Air, waiting for

Someone to speak
To her if they
Were stupid or

Enough to dare.


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