- Non-Erotic Poetry
- French
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Rod was sixteen and she was definitely not
Rod was experienced
She was only thirteen and scared
But she wanted Rod’s kiss
More than not wanting the fear
And so she stood there; lips pursed
Shaking so hard her teeth chattered
But it was a chilly August night
And Matt was there too, kissing Katie
Rod was Matt’s best friend and cuter, too
Every girl loved Matt
But Rod was willing to kiss her
Matt wasn’t; not anyone else but Rod
His mouth opened to her and she was ready
Ready to kiss and be kissed
Lips touching, touching, touching
And then
Then
THEN
His tongue; slug-like, oozing scum-coated
Tongue
Darting in with snake-like precision
Bile rising up; burning... boiling... bile...
The French are so vile.
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