Started at nine in the morning.
Innocent enough.
By noon we were
trading felonies.
She sent a picture of her hand inside her panties at her desk,
I sent back what I would do about it, nothing left to guess,
She typed one-handed for an hour while her coworkers walked past,
I described positions, pressures, rhythms, first to last.
Dirty text thread, four hundred messages of smut,
Dirty text thread, she could not keep her legs shut,
At her desk while reading every graphic thing I typed,
Dirty text thread, she was over-hyped,
By the time she got home she was halfway done already,
Dirty text thread, kept her wet and unsteady.
She walked through the door and threw the phone across the room,
Said I don’t need the text anymore, I need the man,
Of flesh and blood, get over here and do what you described,
At eleven-forty-two, the one that bribed,
Me into leaving work early, I said which one, she said all of them,
I said we will start at the top and work down to the stem.
I spent the evening fulfilling every promise made in text,
She checked them off like items on a list, what is next,
She said number seven, the one about the kitchen floor,
I dropped to my knees and gave her number seven and then four more.