Have I left you all dry,
With a throat I’ve supplied
With the words of a poet
Who slips a poem inside.
Receiving your mail,
You handsome, dark male,
You sat in a chair
With woozy head as you stare.
Painting her body, prepared,
For you to meet her and share.
The words of her letter,
Forms the pierce of her stare,
Her full body in view,
She arches her back up for you.
Pulls up her long, cascading hair.
Moves to her rhythm,
You watch her, ensnared.
With her own ink she’s shared,
Dancing for you with words placed with care.
Your body feels weak, your head feels so light,
The pumping of blood supplies you with
Your want for the night.
You stare at her words, in the shape of her curves,
Her lips parting in pleasure, her eyes shooting arrows,
You study every seductive trace of a dot,
Coming to life in every detail she’s got,
She’s sent herself to you, you can smell her perfume,
Sprawled out on your page, she beckons to you.