Her accent, an aphrodisiac brings that torment back of long ago,
I know rage in every hormone when I hear her on the telephone and when she speaks it feels as if her body's leaking words that only she knows I've been seeking.
A latitude, degree or two and she always knows just what to do.
I'm pinned on strings and don't understand whose hands go where and what and why
**** or cure and curse the poor she knows exactly who I am.
Crack me open, look inside, here is where I figure out the places I can hide.
She finds me, attacks me with her aphrodisiacs and I am lost to pheromones and her voice when I'm the telephone.