Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Cherry Stem

Cherry stem at the bottom of her glass,
tied by her tongue,
and me, in her lap,
tied up in her troublesome smirk and possessive, pawing hands.

The sun was beginning to set,
and she had been drinking since it had risen,
so I was in a unique kind of danger,
just a little lost in her lager fuelled lust,
but I loved it,
like I loved her,
in a shy, coy kind of way.

She told me I was the sweetest little girl in Sunny Spain,
despite us being in Prestatyn,
and, oh,
how my lips loved every little word that she said.
Oh, how they knelt before her, and worshipped,
staring at the tangled cherry stem,
knowing what would become of me,
and smiling at the thought.

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