His Pretty White Pickup Truck

March 26, 2012
The baby blue seats are my bed.
The not so soft, but soothing
rumbling of the motor,
is my lullaby.
The idling drifts me into a peaceful sleep.
His pretty white pickup truck
She turns heads.
He is proud-
sitting in the captain seat.
Wasting gas and money,
but not time-
anything but savored time.
A ride in his Ford
is never time wasted.
Parked in a field,
under a starlit black sky.
We touch,
We feel,
We embrace.
He lowers his strong body onto mine-
our hips meet.
The engine drowns out my gasps,
but not
his heavy breathing
in my ear.
His hands
explore the curves of my body.
Condensation builds-
windows cover with fog.
The truck’s tailpipe steams.
Heavy breaths,
pounding hearts-
The motor idles on
as I drift to sleep in his arms,
cradled by the baby blue seats.

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