Poem

You pull down my pants.
I quickly rip off my shirt, and then yours.
I let my my underwear drop while you do the same with your pants.
I sit back and watch as you carefully, delicately remove your underwear and bra.
Now we're tied in a confusing tangle of summer-scented sheets and tugging hands.

Thanks for helping me take the laundry down from the line.

3 comments:

  1. Dead Robot11 June 2008 at 22:42

    Adjusts beret and Wayfarers, snaps fingers in the dark coffee house

    Actually that was brilliant! Good one!

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  2. Anonymous12 June 2008 at 11:21

    And now will be understood by a whole new generation, post dryer.

    Ontario recently removed the possiblity of so-called "covenants" that forbid the use of outdoor clotheslines.

    Hooray for the summer-scented sheets :-)

    We can put this into the anthology with the erotic poem dave
    auntie

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  3. wordswords12 June 2008 at 11:32

    Robot - I had to take the beret down from the line before adjusting.

    Auntie - I was thinking of that very poem as I pulled into a picnic area to jot this down.

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