Dear Stacy

The first time I saw the red black dragon’s flare

Peeking over your tight T-shirt’s neckline,

I thought if this wasn’t the first time we had met,

I could have said something sexy.

Instead I settled for – you have a tattoo.

Your shoulder blades stiffened, the dragon blushed

You turned to face me now,

Sheltering me from its fiery breath.

I felt less flushed.

You nodded simply. It was enough.

I perked up more, began to entertain designs

Of dragon-petting.

So do you have a boyfriend?

Guys think the tattoo means I’m a plaything.

How to get boyfriend?

The blushing came rushing back,

I had the sudden inclination to hunch, look somewhere else.

Conversation happily deceased, I slunk away.

But I’m glad you asked, Stacy.

It may be usual for guys

To think of your red dragon

As an invitation to play,

But I can’t apologize to you for them,

Because I thought that too.

Blame the dragon.


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