She called him Leo
she didn't want to
know his real name
only that he got her jokes
shared his smoke
and told her that her tits were fabulous
he had a mane
all curly light locks
out of her control
But nothing else was.
She matched him shot for shot.
"You're my kind of woman," he said.
"What? Breathing?" she laughed.
She told him stories about herself.
First, she was a surgeon
("Curing erectile dysfunction, one Dick at a time.")
Next, she was in hiding via US Marshals
("My name's been changed to protect the guilty.")
Then, she was a spy
("I'm Agent Orange, don't get too close.")
Rose. . . and every other name.
"Whoever I need to be."
"Really, though, who are you?" he pleaded.
"If I told you then I'd have to . . ."
but before she'd finished her sentence
eager words were licking at his lips
"You're delicious," he whispered.
"I've been told I taste like honey,
but I'm not so sweet,"
"You're giving me a buzz," he laughed.
She shook her head, disappointed.
"You can do better than that!"
"I can. I will," he promised.
They went to a hotel. She paid in cash.
She kept the lights on.
Put the TV on a music channel.
"I want to know your name," he pressed.
Then he said his.
She turned the TV up
and dropped her dress.
"Stop talking and touch me!" she screamed.
Her eyes were unapologetic. Her legs were parted.
"But what if I want to see you again . . . "
he shouted back.
Now she felt naked.
She bit her lip.
"I told you, I'm not so sweet."