Waxing Poetic

 

She lies there. Motionless, bare

As I prepare the soap and water

I look her form over, noticing

The spots that need the most attention.

 

The water falls on her like rain,

Slipping off and around her curves

And expansive rear space.

She remains still.

 

I still remember when I first saw her.

I knew I had to wait for her, work for her.

But now she is mine. Faithful,

And willing to do by bidding.

 

As she dries herself off in the sun

I can't wait to get my tools in her,

She still makes that clunking noise

When I drive her too hard.