Think of me
when the time comes.
In the shower,
at the office,
stuck in traffic.
Any long, and particularly cold quiet night.
I'm good for all occasions.
I come in many flavors, but only one bottle.
When you use me up,
return to sender
and hope to encounter another.
My time here is measured by successes
romantic and professional
at the moment
I'm tragically stalled on the line.
You could be my starter pistol.
Four wisemen once said
happiness is a warm gun.
Who are we to question?
Just picture me, nose to nose
grin to grin
pulse to pulse
feel my thumbs running over your hipbones
my breath slide down your neck.
Warm, moist, and smelling faintly of rum
and sterile crushed white pills.
My eyes aren't dialated,
but I'm high on touching you.
Ever synapse, nerve, and fantasy
firing a cacophony of chaotic rapture
an exploding overture of bliss
as lips gingerly roll over dewy skin.
Touch.
Close.
Purr.
Was it as good for you as it was for me?
