- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Ride
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She was all spitfire and tortoise shell. Less charisma but another me. She looked over with gloss eyes and bitter pouting lips. We rode in silence until her home. I ate a cookie; soft bites between teeth and tongue. Drank milk from a thick, tall glass until it poured down the sides of my face and along my neck and breasts. Beaded white at the tips of my nipples. Found a slick puddle beneath me. Slipped. She told me I couldn't come in but thanked me for the ride and the tunes. I told her I wanted to meet the man who drained her.
- COMMENTS
lorencinoabout 7 years agoI don't know how many times I've read this intriguing poem trying to decide what was the writers intended meaning from the choices that present themselves to me. And even as I still can't make up my mind, I've decided that that is the thrill of this poem for me. Delightful!
