Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2019
Lily's hands were soft.
Her red nail polish
didn't contain even one chip.
As that dame stroked
the inside of my thigh,
the scent of an agenda
lingered on her breath.
So I started the car.
We didn't speak five words
during the ride back.

-Ron Gavalik
Ron Gavalik
Written by
Ron Gavalik  Pittsburgh, PA
(Pittsburgh, PA)   
128
   Fawn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems