This sweet agony that stems from my
Nucleus accumbens –
Down my spine
Down the veins of my right arm
Down to you.
This touch –
A feather tickling a hole into a corner of my
Oh would it that I could
Capture one or two of these tumbling, fumbling
Pleasure crystals and save them for
A moonless day,
When the lack of a person streams in through
The blind-ed windows, and
When my midnight coffee foxtrots
With my restless tongue,
And the smell of wetness just won’t go away.