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