She Tugs

As coy as any moonlit night
whose shadows fall half nude,
as unpretentious as the sun
and quaint as "in the mood."

Her hair a trail of trickling streams
her skin as smooth as glass
her supple stance as unpronounced
as  thumbs cocked in her pants.

She tugs at belt and bends her waist
as glances side to side
and pulls her hair as if to say,
"I just might need a ride."

She's the kind who still hitch hikes
a chance that now and then
she takes to risk and just in case
she takes excuses thin.

"Oh, I'm just off to see my friends
who live out west somewhere."
And she darts and flags it down,
a car that takes the dare.

Oh, she's a danger you can see
from just how stands she there.
For she's the kind that if a mind
she'll ride the front seat bare.

runningturtle87