- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Cellar Door
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The Cellar Door
She was like that
a slow grind against
the cellar door,
a building urgency
separated by a few
layers of thin fabric,
straining like the wood -
bowing with each thrust,
rusted hinges moaning
as loudly as us, one
hand grasping the lock
another kneading a breast.
She wore me in tiny
bruises across her neck,
a rumpled blouse
and wrinkled pants -
bits of her fabric
fused to the paint.
Yeah, she was good
for a time, that slow grind
against the cellar door
until I had nowhere to go
but to someone faster
and left the door behind.
- COMMENTS
dcpoet44almost 19 years agoand good imagery throughout. i detect subtle sarcasm though......nice job......don
Anonymousalmost 19 years agoI like this read. Makes me wish I had gone a little
deeper with mine. sand
