The dance was simple:

Give in and be touched.

The moves were effortless:

Violate your regular stamina.

The music was unadorned:

Stifling and purposely unrefined.

The setting was flawless:

An empty room with blank white walls.

The clothing was promiscuous yet unpretentious:

Skin.

You be the marionette,

And he'll be the puppet-master.

You're under his spell,

But down here it's so hard to tell,

How the strings on your head,

Have led you to this post-shock bed,

Oh so riddled in defiance,

But outlined in compliance.

And there you wonder how things would've went,

If half the things he said was what he really meant.