Bad News on the Television

The program on the television

Ended hours past.

The dull newscast is muted.

We no longer hear of presidents,

Dictators, and administrative fools.

We softly cover over silence.

Her uncoiled hair

Eternally unspools,

Enticing,

Tickling my legs.

I stroke yet can't hold firm

Or pull

The sheets of silk

That slink onto

My thighs

And through my futile fingers.

She's impossible to grip,

An olive oil body

Squirming In my hands.

She always slips away.

The siren through the window

Penetrated shrill,

But now we cannot hear

A sound except the hotel room

Inhaling.

She's an ever rising well

Surrounding me.

- 10/23/25