the f word.

Red plastic cups are nailed onto kitchen counters
If Mom walked in, she'd smell the not-so-faint scent of beer
But the clever ones hide alcohol in coffee mugs
When the cops come, they'll be the ones in the clear

As she walks to the dining room, he looks her up and down
A v-neck shirt and skinny jeans grace her outer body
It's like she's asking for someone to take her upstairs
So he takes her hand and they share the Bacardi

Their breath is in sync; inwards, outwards, a pause, exhale
Upside down, inside out, Every kiss they share tastes of Ecstasy

Hand in hand, they step into the dope infested basement
As a last thought, she leans in for a goodbye embrace
He holds her close while he can then she whispers,
"Promise me you won't remember this"

He paces the garage floor thoughts encircling his mind
As she's lured into the cracks, he shakes his head in denial
It comes down to three facts: We fucked, she's a whore, this is shit
But does it even matte