Seventeen, Eighteen
Louis admitted it turned him on;
the wild quarrel of hair on my head.
He liked it that way, as if
we had spent the June afternoon
in a lover's tussle beneath the sheets.
We crawled out when our stomachs
rumbled. Scrambled eggs, fried bacon,
burnt toast. Breakfast in bed.
He was a fun lover,
ever sincere about love-
making, could never get enough.
When my hair flew about;
the long auburn beckoning
a mysterious riot of possibilities,
the spark of our youthful hearts
never had a snowballs chance.
~*~
Cheerwell, Mary :O)
=====
Good Cheer & Be Well,
Maryann Hazen Stearns
"Under The Limbo Stick" http://www.geocities.com/Faerhart/
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