Moving on...
She sat there on the floor Cross legged and sterile Among jars of vacuum That he left behind As he moved away. She’ll now breed on one of them, mud made and painted white, Half naked slumbers of horny nights And bring up another one Who will grow up to call her a slut. She’ll show him Her skin depths and match it With his inherited mirth for blood stained thighs. She won’t moan a second time Ecstasies are time bound and slippery She would rather wash and sleep.