| Sweet Rhonda, you were a cool summer night when I scrambled forth from my chums to make that date with you. Beautiful Rhonda, you were the color of summer that next day in the park, on the grass, as cyclists pedaled by. Sandy hair tickling my naked thighs, I inhaled the salty mist of your private beach. You tasted of summer, my Port Aransas girl, your freckled skin my tangy strawberry. You came and went like my summers, short seasons of intense couplings, polished sex for its own sake, understood, enhanced, both of us out to be memorable. Always obliging, never questioning nor demanding, mutual assured abandon. At the lake in my Jeep, swinging from the rollbar with your legs about my waist, joined, a pendulum in good time, then a lurching carnival ride. Twenty-one and full of cum. I set about pitching my tent, but had you twice more before its pole went up. On your knees, across the seat. You were the first girl I spanked, that night in the back seat, instinct guiding me; you tensed up like a board, tears rolled from your eyes. You said it was your strongest climax ever. In the tent we continued the bliss – we were expert together entwined, but the passion stirred in silence, we could barely manage small talk. I told you I wished we would converse more, so you declared you loved having sex with me. Dear Rhonda, you deserved my soul, but it wasn’t there for you, just as yours eluded me. It mattered not to either of us, though. We were happy, simply, and had given each other that leave. Symbiosis. Beautiful. The last time I called you was when I had the flu, and I didn’t want to give it to my real girlfriend, but I wanted to give it to you. Wheezing and feverish, I picked you up and drove us to the nearest deserted road, took you in the back of the car, then took you home. Cold of me, but it still didn’t matter, did it? Not to her, not to me, but Fate took offense. The illness worsened and laid me up, giving my protected lover the chance to be seduced by my best friend. That darkness came to light years later and ruined our time in the sun. Meanwhile, Rhonda, my summer flower, disappeared beyond the dunes, and I never knew if she caught the flu. |
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| Poemission |
| Tastes of Summer |
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