In Some Other Place My Mind Skids On Wet Thoughts
Will we still have a skin to jump out of
when we are flesh no more?
Will we skinny-dip inside a thimble?
Will Summer rain still softly kiss?
Will there be Harley’s,
plasma shotguns?
Will most things
not be worth waiting for?
Is this old world a head-fake,
an insubstantial place
for our many bodily functions?
I may be a hologram of you
and you a naughty postcard
I bought on Brighton Pier
in 1993.
It’s just so kinky to think
I took you
and your hard riding passion
on my lap
when you were 62.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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