Pay Attention to the Title

Close call.
She didn't even scratch the rubber surface
with her straight, mid-life acrylic nails.
The laughing-cow question.

Don't mind me,
while I bend adolescently in hysterics
and regress into society's expectations.
The copper-rash truth.

Your pro-dominance,
excites me weekly while my stomach flutters
at your anti-women visions backstage.
Failing badminton at the backstreet cage;
binocular organ donor.

Night vision.
When we pretend, I kneel; howl as if we can marry.
Two males, nameless - Sandy, Harry.
This warrior hotel is the best of me.

But then,
her mid-life acrylic nails,
reappear, just before the good part,
as we both ponder equal images
of colour-coding the blank furniture.