HITCHED A RIDE

We'd had our fill, wine-warmed and fed.
Kisses were shared, our clothes were shed.
On the floor we would not do it,
we would christen my new unit.

Both of us, knelt on the pine top,
were up for doing it non-stop,
bare-skinned like poultry plucked for pot,
me positioned behind her bot.

I hitched a ride behind her back,
buried myself up to my sac
in her moist silken envelope,
while my hands on her breasts did grope,

Her body, on her forearms propped,
stood firm so would not have dropped
as I thrust, leaning on her back,
maintaining pace, not growing slack.

Her breath steamed the kitchen window
of my flat while storeys below
the world passed bustling on its way,
none looking up to see our play.

We were naked as day when born,
while the blind had been left undrawn -
until she, hasty, pulled it down
just after the ecstatic drown.