Flat

She arrives, tottering
On heels. Her breasts pressed
Against her too tight dress.

He has been pottering.
And, on hearing the familiar click clack
Opens wide
The door to her

Claire,
(well, its something like that)
Slides in, wearing matching black
Dress and shoes.

They drink booze
And chat.
Then retire
To the place of desire,
Where the curtains flap,
And the booze goes flat.

	K Morris Poet on My Muse
	K Morris Poet on Being Blind
	V.M.Sang on My Muse
	OIKOS™- Art, Books… on Being Blind
	K Morris Poet on A Young Lady of Peru

K Morris – Poet