She handed me a pacifier after the tirade
A warm such and such to accompany a gentle gaze
I spat it out knowing my body had seen itself better cures
I shifted focus once again from the world
Then the tongue started its unseen
The habitual shiftings in and out
Slithering between the uppermost and bottom white shield
Entrenched in that trance I set
Nails subconsciously roving the soft cleavage of my top
Precisely that luscious part of which all the cloth is mounted
I ripped apart its hardened exterior and twirled upon its strands
Digging into the garments and at one with the motion
Carrying on as long I let it
Synchronic sulking heals the tongue with its grip
On fingered straws of cloth
Whisking away alternating fingers in their masterful method
Found a bliss when I was of young
Guiding the gaze and chiseling an abyss
The one deemed unworthy to carry on
But from time to time I make use my nails
To slip the skin before it’s semi-circle promenade
It has just as much a discounted feeling
But will do for a man who’s seen better cures