Hard On


She sails, hard on the wind,
discovers an isle crammed
with bent orange trees
and one naked man.
He picks and
peels a nearby orange,
drinks its juice,
licks his chin,
touches himself,
disappears,
leaving her
to plot the coordinates
of lust.


Pris Campbell
©2005 (revised 2010)

 

Published In Asphodel Madness-June 2010


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