The 14-Step Staircase

I don't like to operate as one behind the scenes, Shuffling uncomfortably positioned on my knees Gazing at your hunger leaving, satisfied and smug, You toss me to the ground and I get grazes from the rug. Your whiskey kisses linger on my chest; From under duvet I emerge, ensuring I impress. Recalling every weak spot you explore me like a map, Tracing finger down my side, your lips demand to know what's happening. To be shy? I'd never have my prize! Afriend thatI admire who I sleep with on the side. Hamilton wins Silverstone but Sunday we reside In the heat of rolled-in sheets as our bodies interwind. To be brave, I'll bite my lip, and watch you under drips, Gazing as the water cleanses from your scalp and past your hips. Noticing no further mention, like a passion washed away, It's like your much more confident when you admit you like it.