Tits On Glass

It must feel wonderful,

Astounding even,

My sweet,

Tortuous,

Pepper Mill.

Leaning towards nothing,

Giving

Nothing away,

Only gaining the sensation

Of what it is to feel wonder,

Astonishing

Sweet morsel

Of fat.

Pressed out smooth—

So close to perfection,

Only you know
What it is,

As I am left to wonder,

Admiring,

Sweet soundless

Imprint

Of your figure.

You must feel balance,

Lying bare,

Upon mineral corpse,

In concupiscent pose,

Envied by man.

I am separated by it.

As you are,

You are drenched in it,

Longing,

Secretly,

The feeling of giving,

To contrast;

Evidently, an

Ironic

Erotic

Dichotic.

For I long as well.