No, I'm not
doing a thing tonight
She uttered to
her red dress
Carelessly
caressing the wind
The man in the
pinstripe suit twisted
Her brown curl
with a sly smirk
Then walking
down the hill glanced one last time
At the 'v' fold of
her skirt
And those chubby
knees scarred
By worn nylons
After the dusk
hues had mellowed to black
Twice over and
brought up a new morn
The young woman
lay upon the same checkered quilt
Innocently
crushing the green twigs and wondering
If virginity
would ever again wander her same path
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