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Image for the poem she makes love dirty

she makes love dirty


she parades the boulevard like a whore in that dress, that
blue dress, with the odd rounded hem that dips demurely in
the back & rises to mid-thigh in the front. you could see her
legs, sleek & alluring, & figure she never wears panties.

she says I love you like it was brand new, like she never said
it to a man before. & I’d be in trouble big-time if I called her
lover, if I called her Tereska. if I called her mine.

in black pumps or barefoot, she comes on all debonair &
refined, just a few quickies shy of being a virgin, maybe. but
in her heart, in her dreams, she’s dirty.

she tells me things that make me solid & reckless like a
runaway train. I’d crouch like a tiger when she leans against
the wall in that blue dress, start at her ankles & lick my way
up to her bad girl, moody like the night & wet like the rain.

I search the broken skies & the cracks in the earth for the
beauty that art imitates, & I see it in her; & I am afraid, afraid,
of what she sees in me. she intrigues this disparate womanizer,
who has found romance to be a sojourn in the valley of hurt,
a journey of goodbyes.

the night drifts with us in our tears & our kisses & I hold her
close in our plaintive bed, where the sex is pure & beautiful
& love never sounded so dirty…


(Art: Dmitry Kuklin)

Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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