As I tore down interstate 95 <br />my stomach churned with butterflies. <br />This man was handsome, hearty; <br />and I wanted his lips on mine already. <br />It made me feel bad, but I felt alive. <br />A foreign emotion in the years that had passed; <br />my life was predictable and <br />steadfast. <br />So I pulled into his drive, <br />hoping him awkward and off putting. <br />Turns out he was sweet with coy sex appeal, <br />it was slow burning. <br />Three shots of whiskey, I'm in his arms. <br />On my knees. <br />At his feet. <br />We had our way twice, then again. <br />And then he decided to take me to bed with him. <br />I got my kisses, slept on his chest, <br />ran my fingers through his short gray hair, <br />and rested. <br />In our few days together, I cooked. <br />Held his hand. <br />He rubbed my legs while we lay on the couch. <br />He built his house, <br />and I tanned. <br />And I fell 300 miles for him. <br />It made me feel bad, but I felt alive. <br />We can live with our secret for now. <br />Share loaded looks and not whisper too loud. <br />Until we can steal away again. <br />Until our birthday has come and went. <br />When he misses me <br />and I miss him.<br /><br />Violet Winters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sarge/
