My Girlfriend's Eyes are Kinda Like the Sun
she glares at me and makes my face go red
when I am eying other chicks. "For fun,"
I grin. How can a guy not turn his head
to watch a babe with mounds of cleavage white
as snow, or one whose skinny thong strap peeks
between her shirt and cut-offs so skin tight? —
My eyes can peel her shorts right off those cheeks.
Thing is, my girl is really wide in the beam;
her eyes are city stars, so widely spread;
her weedy hair, a vacant lot of dreams.
But who would think of sleep when we're in bed?
I'll tell you more, but not inside this sonnet.
Be a pal — don't let her in on it.
Barbara Lydecker Crane
(Watch for her first chapbook, Zero Gravitas, from White Violet Press)