I met my blue mini skirted devil, her hair glistening after the rain, her blouse opened down to almost everywhere,
well, some places it wouldn't matter, her pencil thin lips
caressed by a soft breeze and odors of rained grass and air
playing with her Roman nose, her legs in knee stockings down to black boots.
Our stares interlocked at an intersection before our sudden introductions.
She's a devil in the things that count
for only me.
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Author:
JDB (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 25th, 2024 11:37
- Comment from author about the poem: Thinking about my wife as I wrote this. I was sobbing.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 43
Offline)
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