I can sit and count
The clock's tic-toc
And plant a kiss
In every second,
Lick you up like
The cow does the calf,
Or munch the grass,
Or swish the fly
But I have clothes to wash
and plates to clean
clear the table and
sweep the floor ...
And I have shoes to wear
and my hair to comb
press the clothes
and wear them on ...
For I have to make a move
walk miles before
I make sense to the world
outside my door.
Or shall I count
The clock's tic-toc,
Sprawl my limbs,
Or make love,
Or just run my fingers
Through your hair,
And close my eyes
And wave off care?
Nice. Your hubby must be a stay-at-home hubby. And small, way smaller'n you, postage stamp sized in fact, since you mention wanting to lick him up. And then you mention you have to go do all that house work but really want to just lie around making love to him. How on earth do you make love to Mr Tom Thumb? :) (kidding) I cannot understand a word of poetry, so shallow am I.
ReplyDeleteHi and thanks for the comment. I really don't know how to appreciate a totally unexpected comment such as yours. However, if you look at a woman who 'walks miles before making sense to the world', you will learn that both the husband and wife go to work as well as do the housework.
ReplyDeleteThank you once again and happy reading poetry ...
Phew! That was a close one. I was hanging from a ledge by my fingernails to be admonished. I was getting ready to go stand in the cawnah, my hands twisting my ears.
ReplyDeleteYou are truly sporting. A pearl actually. :)