feelings
Hands cold firm like stealsunk into the dashboard
she twists her way up into it
knowing its every curve
sweat hot like morphine dripping to a tip
beading pass the ash tray headed to the hip
drop on over the shoulder for just a little trip
hands cold like steal in the dashboard grip.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.