bunnny

i always seem to sit over the wing. we're pushing back.
Your palm springs tan and bleached white tennis shoes. your Trident smile, glistening skin, shining pure sweat beads... they pour over your body, rolling down your inner thigh. supple and young. "nothing more, " you say, "there's nothing i want more." i look at you, take a drag of my cigarette, a sip of this luke warm beer. exhale. you are a fountain of lust sitting in front of me, pouring over the edges... you are my sin, my savior, my demise.

we're taking off.