one beaded drop of sweat, traverses the canyons
and ridges of his,
finely muscled back
slow ..quick.. slow
in rhythm with his .....
scintillating movement
i am transfixed,
by the little bead's progress
hesitant to portend
it's destination,
as it wends it's way downward.
i want to halt...
the glistening jewel's journey with the tip of my tongue.....cat-like,
lapping at smooth milk
but that would be.....




........a bit weird.....
i expect the young god cycling, before me in
the spin class may think me odd
if i leapt forward and licked his salty back....

...but an old girl can dream!