I wish Erin’d wipe 

that look off her face,

it’s my lips that she tastes.

It’s hot to see Erin frantically, 

fan the bell peppers

that flame her tongue

because Erin’s the one 

God made 

with a warning sign.

Hot when wet.

I had it in me to ignore

my reservations and plunge

into Erin’s life.

Whatever that’d look like,

I didn’t know.

But it had to be better

than pretending friends

was all good.

We made love in the back seat

of her Jeep on her farm when

her parents weren’t home.

I was there, soaking in romance.

But I can’t tread for too long 

because I can’t swim, and Erin

would hate to lose me.

I hoped.

Erin was dry enough to quench 

my trust, lease her lust and satiate 

the memories of summer nights

or for forever, whichever lasted longer.

The worth of Erin’s touch

spent more than the times

that I cut my losses

in failed relationships.

Time slipped through my fingers

but I held seconds in my back pocket

as proof that I refused to give up on love.

I dipped to one knee 

to present an engagement ring.

Erin covered her mouth,

and then placed a hand 

on her heart. 

Erin nodded through glassy eyes

before she said, “Yes.”

Twenty years later, she’s still

hot when wet.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Twitter: AC0040