Toxic Candy Or Tractors Poem by Belle Violet

Time with a farmboy
is a two-sided matter;
you’ll need to be sexy
and dressed up to flatter.
But he expects that
you’ll get dirty, too.
Help him
use his tools.
He'd like if you swept
up his shop.
When he works on his truck?
Sunbathe – climb on top.
He’ll appreciate the view,
what he likes is the time,
and what he likes most of all is,
he’s where
I like spending mine.
His is a world without
clutter and wives;
without bulls**t and lies.
He’s simple,
he’s sweet,
he’s kind and
he cuddles.
Oh, he eats puddles.
Did I mention
that he likes
spending
the night?
He lays on ‘your’ side.
Time is nice, I realize,
and so are blue eyes;
his are
undeniably clear.
Not muddled,
and golden,
and smeared.
He knows
how I like
being alone;
it’s the same reason why
he lives off a back road.
He’s strong, German-jawed,
stocky, not tall,
with lips
in competition
with your own.
And he
makes me drip;
sweat, squirm, and moan.
He makes me
wanna make him
late for work.
I like that he kisses
Goodbye
In the dark.

You won’t lure me back into
that den.
It makes me feel dirty,
condemned.
I won't be baited
with your handmade
toxic candy;
Our luminous history
makes these choices easy.

And you won’t have me
if it’s not done properly;
I am not
some wop’s
seedy property.

I can make breakfast now.
Dance in my underwear!
He pulls the sheets up,
I like when
we’re under there.
I’ll be thirty-eight
when he’s forty;
I don’t know in ten years,
if he’ll bore me, but…

If you’ve nothing to offer
you’ve wasted
the endeavor;
you can’t take
almost good enough
from me.

It’s a love story, or forget it.
I won’t be the one who
regrets this
again.

Toxic candy or tractors?
Think I'll wind up
where I matter.