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You liked it when I traced the lines
first those that spread away,
from luscious lips to molar territory,
then goose bumps rose at once
along the sternomastoid range
alerting, as it did, the pectorals.
And on I went, you know us men,
who still were boys at heart
and in our growing brains,
hand leading while the going was,
still good, as they would say,
next day. Though there was hell to pay
if lips were loose, not sealed as asked,
and boys told boys about their feats
in class where nerds taught all about cow's teats.
I do recall the time, the day and then the taste.
Nothing could have prepared me, no
and those who talked and bragged,
about those tits that sagged,
did not have proof, nor a small clue
soon it was *US* and you were mine,
a peaches/cream dessert, a scrumptious you.
I did, in youthful rage of ample androgens,
testosterone was tingling in my crotch,
side with my little guy, who thinks he always wins,
and thought your head was cute but bare of any thought.
They say too soon we turn as old
as some Methusalem of ancient times,
I wish that God would give the fearless and the bold
some smarts when they are needed, I heard chimes
but shrugged them off as I was busy, into things.
Today I would have given all to share with you,
the symbolism plus the meaning of those golden rings.
There have been just a dozen of les grands visages,
I cannot be where angels fear to tread;
please do not spit upon the skin of my plumage,
but have a heart, come back now, come to bed.
Herbert Nehrlich
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