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Fogged glass…stained
by street light’s reign
in seclusion after cruising
for novel amusements
in each other’s embrace
The slight, salty taste
of young flesh flushed
with emotion
In motions of love
made more real,
the tug of raw heels
digging into smalls of back –
clawed and scratched
More passionate
than bruises on necks of magenta
Bites that hurt so good
preserve wood like timbers
water sealed
Getting wet oughta feel
this way all the time
Memories called to mind
of bumps that grind
while passing that exit sign
on this highway
to our velour backseat
we called “ Heaven”
- HymnAgen
