Fred B. Baker, II

OUR FIRST CHILD

‘Twas a night ruled by glands
How amply she filled her blouse
As we walked holding hands
I praised a man named Levi Strauss

Her form so well defined
From head to toe, gracious curves
My hands caressed her back
Hardening more than my nerves

I tasted her mouth, shoulder and skin
My hands reporting like spies
Feeling her trembling from within
The soul-searching look in her eyes

To her breasts I give a slight caress
Her response grew twixt finger and thumb
Together we awkwardly undress
My desire: a canyon to plumb

I could describe how she did magic
Or how often I gave her delight
But my only thought; and this is tragic
My God, I got lucky tonight!