Turning Japanese.

She sits,

tired and aching,

empty after being so full.

He has just left

with a tug of his zip

and a wet kiss on her soft cheek.

He tells her he will see her again soon

and she nods, dutifully,


meek and mild,

with no chance of ever

inheriting the Earth.

She watches him leave;

his posture perfect

and his composure typical

of his polite, hard-working race.

The slight crease in the back

of his expensively tailoured trousers:

the only sign of pleasure

being before business

in this city of secret sex.


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