Hidden in the very back
a leather booth for two.
Engines turning, secret yearning,
motioning the cue.

Landscapes framed in window panes,
softly etched with frost.
the whistle blows and passion flows,
with caution all but lost.

Rising, soaring, deep exploring,
engines groan and sigh.
Methodic rhythms now begin
the landscape passes by.

Melted frost on steamy glass
the ripping of a gown.
Red lights flashing, leather smashing,
moisture trickles down.

this is brilliant! Wow!

Thank you...

this is fuckin great... i'm startin to like this section. Don't know if i'll contribute anymore, but i'm really liking it...

awww. nice and short!

mmmmm mmm. what a ride, what a ride.


Mac =)

you leave so much to the imagination! Very good work.

[COLOR=orange] Diffrent but i like it.

It makes you wonder,doesn't it

Wow I love it and now I want it. Youre a great writer.

Yes at last. A poem which flows. Well done. The best I've read so far. Any more?