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Back of the Bus (A sort of love story)


When I saw you (of course) I thought you were fine, but at the time I was paying no mind.  Conversation sparked for a short time; next thing that came to mind was the possibility you could be mine, but CTA would be on time…

          Now I'm on the bus.  To keep myself from ranting and I don't wanna cuss I just take a seat at the back of the bus.  Then I began to fanaticize about us.  You and I on an empty bus, windows steamed from the heat that is us, pleasure allows us to freely cuss.  Around you r breasts my hands make cups, your hips eagerly grind and thrust.  Soon I seek your clitoris and my tongue dances its dance of lust.  Its waltz is something wondrous, our connection is simply sensuous.  The feeling is infectious and our explosion is thunderous.  Then I notice, it's all fallacious and there never was an us.

          With full abandon (at the back of this bus,) I fully allow myself to cuss.  I lost my chance for an us, so from here on out my only memories of us will be this poem I wrote at the back of the bus.

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