Now we are not so young
(with apologies to A.A.Milne)
by Derek Adams
(04/03/02)
Charlotte James
plays games,
with my head
in bed.
Her lips red
as a Ferrari, slip
over the tip,
slide the foreskin back.
Her tongue glides
side to side.
I gasp and sigh,
she sucks at the sound,
pushes down
as my hips rise.
I grab her hair,
let out a cry.
She sits up,
gulps and grins.
"I love to play games"
says Charlotte James.
©2001 by Derek Adams
Reader
Comments
Derek Adams,
born in London, is a professional photographer,
and has previously had poems published in many magazines,
including Apostrophe, Other Poetry, Poetry Nottingham,
Red Lamp, Sol, Seam, Strange Horizons, Tears in the Fence,
and Winedark Sea (Australia). See more of his work at his
Web site.
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