Twice a month, seeking lips and probing hands come visiting. Impatient. Greedy. Without grace. Clothes are divested of. Her kaftan removed in one fluid motion that ensures it is never inside out. Else she will struggle when they are done - head tunnelling in sleeve and arms flopping about. Everything happens according to plan. Cursory touches and the inevitable thrust. She shields her eyes as the light comes on. Her legs automatically lift. Coaxing creation. Flabby cranes on a construction sight where nothing is ever built. She studies her worn toe rings. 15 years and she still lives in hope.
(Tooday's 100 words)