The Parking Lot by Diana Raab

I counted the steps
we took together
from the coffee shop to parking lot,
seemed to happen quickly
and slowly at the same time,
yet I don’t recall one step,
as we passed curious eyes
and slow turtles in the pond
admiring their freedom
and our yearning for it.
We walked to your sleek black car
as you invited me into your corner
to offer me your gentle passionate lips
and as much as I tried to resist
I succumbed to my deepest desire
nervous in my shoes
in wonder of the next move
slowing you down against all good reason
feeling the lump in your pants in my honor
oh my where is this headed, I wondered
driving home and not remembering one mile
fantasizing about eternal love making
or until we’re snapped back into reality,
which cuts us off forever
out of the sacred space we want to create.

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