I called you Friday because you found me on that day. Though not from followed footprints in the sand. Rather, your steps across a sawdust floor to where I perched, sleek as a parrot, on a bar stool.
Later, we made a shelter in your room. I crouched to suck, and when you spread your seed, I tasted salt on midnight skin.
Then, until rosy-fingered dawn, we slept. When hunkered down, you fucked me like a cabin boy while the scent of sandalwood filled the air and the slave ships weighed anchor in the bay.
