They come to me for a kick start, a quick start, for a broken heart, or one that's stopped beating.
They come for spice, for ***, for connection, for healing.
They come to be seen, to be accepted with open arms, open mouth, open heart, and open *****.
They come to be renewed, rejuvenated, revived, resuscitated, reminded of what it is to love, and to be wanted.
And then they go.

Who heals the healer?

Ooh, the sweetness that is hidden
Under the pocket that holds the pen protectors
And the baggy jeans of the shambling man.

The unsociable quiet one,
Who unexpectedly turns out to be
A ***** tom, a happy bedfellow,

Cerebral and awkward,
Lovely sensuality,
Hidden treasure,
A complete surprise.

When I see him,
I want to rub against him and purr and tease.
Want him to scoop me up as if I were a fluffy white angora cat,
And pet me.

Biscuit boy
Makes me want to
Melt all over him
like butter