*

*
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Friday, June 26, 2015

In the Middle

The last item checked off Friday's list
I jump into my car
Head South
The desk clerk at the hotel
Knows us by name
Our little secret
We take off our clothes
Our identities
Our responsibilities
Giggle like the kids we actually are
Hide under the covers
Two turtles in a doublewide shell
Poke our heads out
Only to get a little water
Or burgers and fries
Come check-out time on Sunday
We reassemble our adult costumes
I drive North, you South
Count the days until next time
In the middle.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 275

5 comments:

Mama Zen said...

This fills me with longing or envy or . . . something.

Marcoantonio Arellano said...

ah yes, the old tryst trick. have you ever experienced an east west vs north south ?

Tess Kincaid said...

Yummy.

Kutamun said...

Exhilarating !

Buddah Moskowitz said...

Exquisite. I had a lover like this once. Happily, now we share the same bed every night. You hit it straight on the head.