His Pretty White Pickup Truck

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
shines.
She turns heads.
He is proud-
tall,
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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