PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Neither the flickering light of the drive-in's

massive screen, nor the subtle glow of our

c.b.'s dial, illuminate the compartment of our

compact car (Ford, Pinto, nine-teen seventy-fice).

Above us the cloudless sky profusely constellates;

with prejudiced inhibitions and presumptive outrages, the

shriveled souls of each prude and hater constipates

beyond our concern in the village we left behind.

You unbutton your shirt, and then untuck its tails from the

waistband of your baggy jeans; beneath the tattered

cuffs of which, your feet---eagerly shoeless again, and

sheathed in midnight blue socks that make them (for the

moment, at least) somewhat invisible---release their

provocative fragrance into the air that I, already

squirming with arousal, inhale deeply and repeatedly.

When the movie's middle sequences becomes a bit tedious,

we take shift a bit in these bucket seats and,

without regard to societal obfuscations,

you provide and I delightedly receive the warmth,

softness and flavor of those socks---a fantasy that I

have played and replayed in my mind (as my flesh

has played and replayed simultaneously to the

force and flow of this desire); so that I am fully and

confidently prepared to express my gratitude well

before the final reel to which neither of us, by then,

pay any attention at all.

Starward

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