- Erotic Poetry
- Sunday Eve
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small wind
in a mini skirt
held down by spikes
poking into the cement
of path and sidewalk
to church
she smiles at all
she is seductive in travel
up and down the way
to worship,
never stumbling
it is sad the way she
leaps over fence
over the old mans fingers
over the ladies invitations
for tea or soda and fresh cake
she knows
she knows
her power
her right to flirt
her offers are firm
they stay warm, like the cake
for hours
(after nearly 14 years he still remembers her. Her thighs, her feet and arms. Her long lasting lust and cum.)
