Combating Crow’s Feet

He smells like sex today, of sweat and musk.
His hair a mess, dark denim jeans too tight,
His mind captivated by thoughts of lust.

He left her after the rite of cutting crust
off burnt toast, methodically chewing each bite.
She smells of sex today, his sweat, his musk.

He had noticed the perfection of her bust-
firm and no more than a handful, just right.
His mind was reeling with thoughts of lust.

Her plump lips were painted heavily in rust
lipstick, smearing with every drunken bite.
She’ll smell like sex tomorrow, acrid sweat and musk.

He whispered in her ear how he would thrust
her deep and fuck her “real hard” all night.
Her mind succumbed to his desire for lust.

He imagined she wanted one to trust,
but she didn’t want him to be her white knight,
just wanted to smell like sex again, of sweat and musk,
enjoying the feeling, captivated by her lust.

Villanelle