Back Seat Viewing Poem by C H Sund

Colors flood through window front
as speaker’d music regales
but eyes seek only curves at hand
and hands are moving… moving well.

Love is rising, as steamy windows tell
and sounds of primal echo sing.
A button here, a zipper there, sweetly now…
Perhaps its time? Ah, the kissing’s fine!

I wonder if Yul ever knew or even John,
that the best of the best played every night.
In cinematic bliss on cushioned seats,
Oscars no, but memories lasting.

Popcorn not needed for this…
back seat viewing