He is glib, smooth, his patter poetic
They line up to hear his pretty lies.
His manner is calculated magnetic,
Before the hello he has practiced goodbyes.
False compliments and meaningless banter
Win him closer to their sexual mysteries.
He is a wordsmith, a poet, female enchanter,
His conquest written in single’s histories.
He has a gift, a charm that transcends his form,
Words drip like honeyed petals from his lips.
For the sake of her body he will perform,
The hunt will always morality eclipse.
Falling on soft ears that inhale his work
Deflecting senses both common and aesthetic,
His words find a heart’s shadow in which to lurk,
From there they build a profile sympathetic.
He uses words like love, and amour
To describe what he really wants.
They are both the trap and the lure,
For all from geriatrics to debutantes.
She keeps his secret and he keeps hers,
No need to disrupt their existing relationships.
She need not reveal what later occurs,
Anonymity often courage equips.
This is all about tonight, tomorrow means little,
They down their shots of liquid nerve.
For him it is all about successful acquittal,
For her it the masking of her natural reserve.
She craves knowing what will come next
Unaware that she is dancing to his tune.
His flowered speech renders even flimsy pretext,
Into heartfelt verse to make her swoon.
Waiting for his unconquerable moves
So that she might feign resistance,
Before his words her self-image improves
And her clothing falls to his persistence.
Before giving him what they both want
His lovely words opened her heart and loins.
She takes a moment to beauty flaunt
Before passion entangles and enjoins.
Tomorrow, they will both tell their mirror
That it was never meant to be;
With morning light they see much clearer
That he must always be unfettered and free.
The night burns ever after as a thought,
A memory of pleasures shared and pursed.
The passion that crafted words had bought,
A night of heaven gotten with verse.