She poured herself into her
jeans like a nice glass of Chardonnay.
I wanted to pound it, but we
had errands to run.
The sun was out, but it lied.
It was February, and cold;
real cold, like her
heart could be.
She wanted to set us free.
She found she couldn't
tame me.
Who the hell likes a
caged dog?
One thing's for sure,
The dog doesn't.
I pulled her close
and growled.
She bit my neck
and then
we were off
into the bright white
world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice snarl to this poem, and an edge of risqué life loving fun!