BIG ASS MOON

BIG ASS MOON

Big ass moon in a midsummer’s dream,
Perfect for my love and me.

Driving to the ice cream stand,
End of the evening, out on the town.

Something sweet and something creamy
To glide so smooth across the throat.

Perhaps a brownie sundae or a Coca Cola float.

My hand on his lap as we stop for the light,

A wellspring of feeling as I grasp his fingers tight.

Those fine sacred fingers that know their way around,
Every last square inch of me at night when we lay down.

Big ass moon laughs high up above
As the night goes whizzing past.

As we lick and slurp quite noisily,
Dripping ice cream in our laps.

We find the oldies station on the car’s big stereo,
Some long forgotten melody we knew so long ago.

We wipe our sticky hands clean
On napkins made of paper,

And head home with the top down,
Rounding out our late night caper.

Hand on his knee as we ride through town,
Singing along if we know the tune.

Cruising along with nary a care
Under the big ass moon.

-BRUCE POTTS
COPYRIGHT 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED