You were dreaming, my finger
sliding up your inner thigh
I’m caressing your man nipple
cause you do like that
And as my index finger tip
reaches the Tippy top of your thigh
A cat fight outside the window wakes you.

You’ve got that itch though.
You can still feel my tongue on
Your chest rising toward your neck
And my fingers, now together
But spread have gotten ahold
Of you so gently as only
An angel could, would does.

Yeah, you’ve got that itch
You don’t want a cold shower
It wouldn’t help, much
You know what you want
And there’s only one
That can touch you that way.

Pick up the phone.
Get in the car.
Can’t drive fast enough.
She’s waiting for you
Keeping her hands warm
For you….just you.
That itch has her too.

But she doesn’t live there anymore.
And she’s kinda seeing someone else

Oh, but reader, do not fret

It was only a bet

See he bet his friends

He could make a lonesome

Girl fall in love with him

But after many poems

Back and forth

She jabbed with that

Itchy retort

Never serve medicine

You can’t take yourself


She chuckles as

He up chucks

His chuck wagon

Stuffed down like

A hungry douche

Celebrating a sure…





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