Drop-Top Catalina
I can see you there....
In my old, drop-top catalina.
Wind fanning the flames that are your hair...
Paper-thin summer dress, hiked-up to "just where"
Loosely flapping in the breeze,
And at once, clinging to your breast.
Your beautiful bare foot, tapping time...
Tiny toes, dancing on a stage of glass.
And the other, planted, firmly,
Pushes against the dash.
Silken-shaved legs,
Distract, from the radio's blare
As i catch my own reflection,
In your mirrored stare.
The unforgiving desert sun beats down
And only the wind we conjure, provides relief.
(Even then, only at highway speed!)
There is no place i'd rather be,
Than shimmering, tiny, in your reflective stare...
In that drop-top catalina,
I love you there....
This is one of my favorites.
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