I squeeze my eyes
Along with my thighs
But your rough fingers still creep up my slender legs
Oh, are you telling yourself lies ?
Are you telling yourself; she’s asleep.
Category: read poetry
I.E.D., Poetry by Frank Bukowski
It started out like any other day
We were just going about our business
It was my lunch break
I needed a few things from Sainsbury’s
As I parked and got out the car
