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his kisses were back seat of a ’67 pontiac dirty

his kisses were
back seat of a ’67 pontiac
dirty

stolen moments in a hay loft
steamy

deep within a garrard county barn

hot as making love naked in the august sun

above the muscled horses

you beautiful kentucky bastard
with a miss-i-left-my-boots-under-your-bed-grin

how you poured yourself
into my bourbon glass

plucking my pink fiddle strings

honey dripping afternoons
on the summer blue lake of the murphy bed sheets

swimming in nothing but tan lines
and each others eyes

forgetting to be careful
not to venture in too deep
to the water
our mouths
or each others lives

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