Naked Mirror

I’ve been looking at her lately, in the morning, while she brushes her teeth.  In the sparse moments that she gives me, I’m still forever grateful that she is part of my life.

Last night, she looked particularly pretty, with her stilettos and her sheer black dress.  She can go to town like no other, dancing like she is alone, laughing like she has an audience, living like tomorrow never will come.

I caught a second of her eye, while she was sexually applying the last drip of her blood red lipstick. Ready to kill the next handsome fellow entering the arena of her dirty mind.

It’s in her step, the way she flips her hair, the little sparks she emits when she bites her bottom lip, when she looks at me, I always forget where I am….who I am, and I lose myself once again in her world full of shameful fantasys.

I like watching her, following her every steps, when her hips sways a certain way, serially stalking her, waiting for the next smile she randomly throws my way.

Lighting up nights and slowly darkening her days.

It’s in the way she says his name, softly, almost secretly, while she dangerously bites his lobe and grabs his ass.  It’s in her way of always asking for more while begging him to stop.  It’s in her way of forgeting what’s dirty-mindedly yours and making it hers, stacking them up on the posts of her unkept bed.

This endless unsatisfaction, this dark sorrowness, twist and spin uncontrollably while she is looking at me.  She finds a way to give me chills, she is good at what she does and she knows it.  Rubbing slowly what she deserves, right in my face.

One day, I’ll have her all to myself…one day I’ll recognize me.


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