I wish Erin’d wipe
that look off her face,
it’s my lips that she tastes.
It’s hot to see Erin frantically,
fan the bell peppers
that flame her tongue
because Erin’s the one
God made
with a warning sign.
Hot when wet.
I had it in me to ignore
my reservations and plunge
into Erin’s life.
Whatever that’d look like,
I didn’t know.
But it had to be better
than pretending friends
was all good.
We made love in the back seat
of her Jeep on her farm when
her parents weren’t home.
I was there, soaking in romance.
But I can’t tread for too long
because I can’t swim, and Erin
would hate to lose me.
I hoped.
Erin was dry enough to quench
my trust, lease her lust and satiate
the memories of summer nights
or for forever, whichever lasted longer.
The worth of Erin’s touch
spent more than the times
that I cut my losses
in failed relationships.
Time slipped through my fingers
but I held seconds in my back pocket
as proof that I refused to give up on love.
I dipped to one knee
to present an engagement ring.
Erin covered her mouth,
and then placed a hand
on her heart.
Erin nodded through glassy eyes
before she said, “Yes.”
Twenty years later, she’s still
hot when wet.