Skeleton Hands

The cherry red thrill between your legs
as you hang on tightly around my waist
with your skeleton hands
not wanting to fall off
you whisper into my ear
words of enjoyment. I smile
at the fun you are having
never wanting this to end. Never wanting
the digital numbers
to reshape their positions, forming
two o'clock.
The cold wind flys through our souls
but your hair doesn't fly
like the gulls.
How is this for front door service?
When can I see you again?
I want to go on another ride.
I show my infatuation through my goodbye's.
The rest of the day, we are apart.
You at work, I at play.
My mind is still racing through city streets,
through the tapestry of motor vehicles
with you on my back
holding my waist with your
skeleton hands.

by Carl A.I.

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