She Rides a Moped With a Chopper Helmet

The waves were impatient as she stared out;
her smile cracked with mud like
it was a dirty place to dip the wick
- a purple hazed blowjob that
would quickly turn down all the cum,
before any dick could ever reach it's zenith.

Only on late nights when it rained,
when the precipitation crawled like sweat on skin,
and Ontario's waters steamed harshly in the air,
would her panties drip off,
through the glides of talented motion.

She was nothing less than a Scandinavian princess,
waiting and ready to conquer,
floating her pussy like a seaborne ship,
head on through the waves;

She maintained a shallow smile,
a voyeuristic grin bent upside down,
arms crushing the breath beneath propeller toes,

always two strides ahead the gravity of the moon;

And as the blueberry droplets fell off,
physics no longer worked as a math of wavy hair,
and the sugary whiplash of a Thursday night was finally felt again.

- Nathaniel T. Hughes, September 2007

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