D.S. Stymeist

When she held me tight and crushed
           her chubby paps against my breast,
I could hardly breathe much less speak.
           Her lips, pearled with Manitoba Mavin,
she brought to mine with a wet smack.
           With a mawkish grin she whispered
of a later that night voulez-vous
           at the cabin beside the short-haul rapids.
Suzy had come over with her girl-pals,
           those wise-cracking and slavering punkettes
who pirated away all my whiskey and gin,
           and fled back out into the summer night
while she held me down with her lip-lock.

Past Issues Contact and Submissions About The Steel Chisel Author Profiles