Voice so low;
M. Lightstone,
she drawls from my
white pickup's stereo.
With nowhere to go,
and barley a home,
spliff after spliff with my wife.
Oh, so romantic a night.
Huddled and tight.
Air-mattress delight.
Cheeks rouge-red,
we should be in bed,
whispers in the dark.
But the car's been on too long,
and her hands look so strong.
M. utters sultry literature.
Boot prints in snow,
on a gravel road,
we make our way back
to our daughter.
Perhaps tonight,
I'll return to delight,
that is M. Lightstone's
midnight radio show.
Nocturne, I return.
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 8:56 PM UTC
Voice so low;
M. Lightstone,
she drawls from my
white pickup's stereo.
With nowhere to go,
and barley a home,
spliff after spliff with my wife.
Oh, so romantic a night.
Huddled and tight.
Air-mattress delight.
Cheeks rouge-red,
we should be in bed,
whispers in the dark.
But the car's been on too long,
and her hands look so strong.
M. utters sultry literature.
Boot prints in snow,
on a gravel road,
we make our way back
to our daughter.
Perhaps tonight,
I'll return to delight,
that is M. Lightstone's
midnight radio show.
Nocturne, I return.
daughter=cat
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