d.a. pratt | three new poems

Nothing’s Sacred

She’s from Portugal
and, like many others, I’m
being seduced by her beauty
in pose after pose,
both pleasing and provocative,
as a Suicide Girl
with both ink and piercings –
but as I fall in love with her,
as surely so many have also done,
I find myself asking if I’m the only one
who whimsically wonders why
she would have wanted the ink
below her belly button
to be worded in English
rather than in the language
of her everyday life …
Maybe “Nothing’s Sacred”,
as her tattoo boldly states
to anyone and everyone
who gets to see it …

Her sultry look

I glanced at her
and she gave me a sultry look
that made me want
to gaze into her eyes forever –
she was indeed looking sensuously sultry
at the loud and louder lounge
on this particular evening,
an evening made memorable
by her presence,
and I’m absolutely certain
that her fleeting glance
at me was quite by accident
but I’m going to take it in
and remember it forever
or at least as long as it takes me
to tap out this poem
on my hand-held device
with the micro-keyboard …

An imagined moment

She let me watch her
step out of her blue jeans
and then step out of her panties …
She did it matter-of-factly
knowing very well why
she was taking off her clothes –
I had promised to give her
an intimate kiss and she
was taking me up on my offer …

Afterward, during her afterglow,
she snuggled next to me,

sharing another form of intimacy,
while being willing to be nicely nude
beyond the time she took

to carnally climax …

Later she let me watch her
pull on her panties and her jeans,
along with everything else
she had been wearing
before she said that she was
accepting my offer …

Actually I can’t remember
the last time I saw her
wearing denim blue –

she’s usually wearing black,
so all of this has been

just an imagined moment …

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