Of fourteen short years and a woman am I,
Who thinks she knows the world.
Five thousand days lived to the edge,
With little looking back.
But why use the rear-view
When the windscreen promises change.
Mirrors distort, in Reality,
While Reality reflects a range,
Of surprising lessons in store for my tiny shell,
As my conscience takes a back seat.
Over speedy bumps and along smooth curves,
My eyes lead my hands.
This self-discovery I share with you,
My first eager lover.
I imagined it would be softly lit
This moment of blissful violation.
And I would call to you, with my hungry eyes,
A fragile form aching to be broken.
But as you shift gear and take control,
I am lost in a fluster of wetness.
Pressed against the sticky red vinyl,
You instruct me with a haste
That shakes my sacred heart,
And traps me beneath your domination.
A neon glow bounds from the saline beads
That drip from your shoulders.
And my mind leaves my body.
To ponder what I will wear tomorrow.
© Copyright March 1999 Joshua Smith