a few

dashing words

fundamental to what's next

sprinkle themselves into the wet goop of want

your mind's finger dipping in to stir

tasting a drop of your soup

am i just right?

have you wound me tight enough?

against the stick of need

bare to the wind

set to the click of a silent strut

your hips shake a 'mock'arina

but i can't hear it

only splash in the dim light of your figure

trying not to make

too much noise with my wide eyes

the square you put me in begins to shrink

and like a pressured ballon my arousal peaks white

my color drifting into the backdrop of your now

and your finger rubbing its tender belly

-poetrician