In the arms of sleep
a subtle, coy, flirtatious smile sends my thoroughly
egg-covered, floured, sadly-filthy-minded,
creamed, self into a spin of floating
drunk—partly, but not only—on
a lovely mix: bourbon,
vb and expensive
champagne.
the flour
that we
threw
(at
each
other)
has caked
to form a delicious
damper on your skin and
i would like to scoop it from your
belly button with my tongue in a mouthful of you.