Poem. History. Katie Lewington.

Carmen sat on the bench in her nightdress
Lips painted red, casting a shadow down into the ground
The rain fell,  hitting the leaves of trees in a hazardous way, as if a slapstick skit

Carmen lifted the dress from her slim brown body
Her breasts were round and the moon shone against them
The air spiked her nipples and made her nerves stand on end

The whole of her being wanted to be one with nature
She spread herself on the bench and groaned
As she ran her hands against her swollen clit

Now it has been two years
That bench shall always remain the property of her pleasure
A plague drilled into it to commemorate
Her life. 

K.L 2016 ©


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