Somewhere you are.
Making love to some auslander mouth, probably.
Cruising, making port of call with every sailor in the Mediterranean.
Puta! coming for everyone but me.
My tongue probing for just the right French kiss.
Yearning for that certain something.
Wait, pretending not to.
I know things, lots of things,
But not the thing.
What does it take to get to you?
Making me feel less.
Smaller.
Size must matter.
I just can’t get it up for you.
When “Je ne sais quoi” Is the Term You Are Searching For
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Feel free to critique the poetry. I employ a sophisticated thick hide technology.