Walking home
My foot crushes a dead leaf crunching,
Wind whispers between my legs and pants in my ear.
The chill chides my choice of one shirt rippling?
Dreaming of warmth walking home,
Shaking at the thought, shivering at the cold
Walking home.
Because you’ll walk by
Because you’ll walk by (with your wife)
coughing in the cold, winter wind
recalling the times you made out:
Walking through the fog on the windshield,
no wonder all the great poets slept around.
You keep asking if arousing her is good,
because all the road signs say “Wrong Way”–
but that’s the thrill:
dodging traffic and rolling over into the grassy median,
breathing harder and heavier pulling you into her,
It’s not sex but might as well be.