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:

Dead Robot said...

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

Actually that was brilliant! Good one!

Auntie said...

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

Words Words said...

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.