As you eat your donuts,

And you sip your tea,

I can’t help but think,

If you’d be suckin’ on me.

 

As you study your lines,

And you think of photography,

I can’t help but think,

If we’d make our own choreography.

 

As you wash your hair,

And you think of the sky,

I can’t help but think,

If I’d go down on your thigh.

 

As you wet yourself with soap,

And you clean your soul,

I can help but think,

If you let me go on and cajole.

 

As you bend forwards,

And you deliver your rump,

I can’t help but think,

If in the night we went thump.

 

As you sing your song

And I put you in a gag,

I can’t help but think

If we went for a shag.

 

As you moan your words,

And hear the twinkle of a flute,

I am the Eden,

And you are my fruit.

 

That is my tale,

A Friday morning,

I am here,

and you are there,

I am a rock,

and you,

a river.

 

© 2005 David Greg Harth

05.06.24.10:22:00@NYC

Poem for J-Dog