For April 6;Another oldie for Jeff

This blue blue day stretched out before me swings its hips like Spring. Coquettish, ebullient,tarty- a succulent,cyrulean eyed twenty year old of a day. Waiting to be corrupted,embraced, wasted. She waits, this day-like most twenty year olds, not for one great love but for one great afternoon... Of sweltering, naked, carnal enhancement. I am waiting like a clock, the inching drip of the obsolete faucet. I wait. For the blink blink flicker of the planet, that churning turning grind of lust. Of lust made real. Curtain lolling in an open window breeze sound of traffic mixed with sweat mixed with dust from the open window becomes a way to map this moment becomes ink to me. You become ink to me, the quill of your spine... I catch my breath on a stone. With my teeth I would build you a temple made of eyelashes, some monument of sighs. With my want I will build you this blue blue day. This effervescent witty need- some feathered desert- in which I wait, pulpy, unapologetic fruit of a plum. My skin stretched taught, I wait. Wanting.