hot summer days
where laziness always plays
sidewalks wavering in the distance
a sprinkler heaven sent
a pocket full of silver change
delivers an ice cold coke
and
a dime store romance
reading is like breathing
something that comes in time
coveting a cover
of a story sold for a dime
under the spreading oak tree
another world and me
in this
dime store romance
pages off white
print in a color not quite right
words so tantalizing
imagination in its ultimate prime
between cold sips
the heroine swoons
with the demanding touch of his lips
heat rises with the moon
touches of suggestion
wrong oh so help me very wrong
with his words
she struggles before she bends
craving the imagination
long after
the end.
I love the
dime store romance.
barb
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