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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 08, 2016

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Submitted: August 08, 2016



Why the Schopenhauer
book now Benny?
Abela says,
lying on the bed
in our hotel room,
hands behind her head,
looking at me
in the chair
with the book
in my hands.

We can fit in
some sex before dinner
and a walk
around the city,
she says.

Just this page,
I say.

She sighs;
there's time for reading
and a time to cease
from reading,
she says,
turning on her side
to peer at me.

I close the book
and place it down
on the small table.

Last night you were
too sozzled to have sex,
despite shouting it out
to the whole landing,
I say,
gazing at her.

Did I?
She says.

Yes shouted out:
come get me lover boy
at the top of your voice.

She smiles;
don't recall that;
so why not now then?
She says,
just to make sure?

What time
is dinner?

Half hour,
she says,
unbuttoning her blouse.

The radio is playing
some Bach piece.

She is taking off her skirt,
and I watch her,
wondering if half hour
is long enough.
Come on lover boy;
don't waste precious time,
she says,
down now to her
skimpy underwear.

I wonder
what Bach piece it is;
maybe an organ work.

I undress as I watch her
lie back prepared
and smiling.

The Bach ends
and some one talks
in Croatian.

I watch her staring
at me, waiting,
then Chopin begins
and so do we:
no foreplay,
least not now,
not today.

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