Spice

Knock at my door,

I’ll show you the floor.

Touch my wrist,

I’ll put your heart in a twist.

Kiss my lips,

I’ll jive your hips.

Meet in the night,

I will surely bite.

Bend the curve,

Work up the nerve.

Sheets are on the bed,

She might just give head.

The heat sinks in,

Time to make our sin.

© 2005 David Greg Harth

05.06.23.16:17:20@NYC