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:
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.