Drunk and in pain I knock the liquor back.
"You've had enough," she says, and takes my glass,
Hauls me along, dodging my clumsy pass,
Folds to her knees, red lips around my cock.
Pale face, silk dress askew, and she was tall,
In that back alley, in that drunken night.
Images haunt me, and try as I might
I can’t forget her strength, against the wall.
Not that I don’t like strength, and men who take,
Broad shoulders, stubble, taste of dusty sweat.
Yes, I like cock, but here at Baker Street
Sherlock just watches, catlike and opaque.
I see her in his face, in his hands’ dance
And soon, one night, I’ll take a soldier’s chance.