She kissed me,
in BBQ sauce glossed lips
- cherry red
bled from hot wing tips.

She extended her tongue,
slipping it down my throat.
Intoxicated, she whispered…
“You devilish dreamboat.”

She lavished me,
almost swallowing me whole.
and I loved it, her,
tasting my soul.

Tonight, I was her basket
on a balcony of lust.
Picnicking with passion
like the wind romances dust.

This poem was written in response to an email I received from Marcus McCann, the editor of theonionunion.com.He requested that I and others attempt to create poetry, music, video, photography, illustrations, performance projects, crafts, baked goods, or another type of artistic effort based from his Dream Journal. The poem I wrote here was based of his dream entries 0 and 9.

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