On the freeway the car speeds home,
And I crumple against you,
Tired from the concert
And weakened by your desire
That gropes deep in my dress
For a warm, liquid place -
Your finger like a salmon
Swimming upstream,
Seeking its spawning pool.
Well, this is a pretty steamy and sensuous write, Lillian, but very well written and tastefully handled. Your metaphor was a brillian stroke! Carl.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Last night, I got home late from the dart league, read your poem, put it on my favorites list without comment and went straight to bed. This morning I still have no comment, and I still really like it. Good one.