at the stoplight
he puzzles over me
fumbling with the pieces
unsure of which box I go in;
"there's a dyke I'd like to fuck"
I'll give him that, he'd be all
Postcards From Barcelona: A Stoplight with a Fountain
The wall is hard against my back.
The air is cold against my skin
as you lift my skirt above my waist.
I arch my back away from the stone
and my crotch presses against yours.
You pull my thong...
A single small drop
glides joyously to the earth.
Postcards From Barcelonaby
My Erotic Trail
Teach Me to Love, Pleaseby
The Batchelor's Handby
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