Kissing a Kia was a nice ride,
A Pelvic glide;
Not a fender-bender no.
He drove a Pontiac at that time;
Then a Mustang.
She once wore horizontal back and white stripes,
They would make out sometime in his benzo.

Kissing Kia;
So how did that start?
Must have been those copious love letters,
Which I still find when looking for something else;
She penned them while in her class.
Giving her
Keeping her border secret
Impressed by my loyalty I guess,
Similarly needing a true friend was I,
She was not a drive-by.

Kissing Kia,
Coming, or better put,
Stopping-by my office to say hello,
Pulling me near in an embrace,
Very sexy she and I couldn’t avoid that face.
Well put-together by the love God Venus,
Body belied her age or another from the assembly line;
It was all I could muster not to think with my penis.

Kissing Kia,
How I wanted to hook-up,
Yet I couldn’t as I was older
While like the old Sam Cooke Song,
“She Was Only Sixteen…”
Only half of those lyrics applied;
She was one smart cookie,
To an intelligent older man drawn
While unsung will sensibly realize.

Kissing Kia was not fake.
Had she bragged to a friend however,
Would have been a Daily News headline cover,
I did not want to make.
Though her tender, well-built body
I yearned to take.

Kissing Kia drove to express her desires,
In no uncertain terms;
More mature than many ladies my own age,
And those guys of her generation;
Her flirtation taught me an important unknown page.
Why so blessed was I with this decision test?

Kissing Kia,
Upon a time of the whip-appeal era,
She is still Babyface alright with me.
A Kia with an Optima Sportage Soul,
French-kissingly Nero Forte,
Mashina I would still love to drive….

[from the book, “My God…U Practical Joker!” 2020 Amazon Books]