iron is hot
weather is sticky.
khaki pants pressed against
cloth and metal.
fragrance spread,
and sun is smiling outside.
to keep the people quiet,
he takes his modern marvels
and plugs them into his ears.
harder than it seems,
and he leaves.
wind caresses his face,
smooth after shave.
stomach aches,
brain completely pizzled,
ecdysiast runs through his mind,
cold and metal pole sticking
straight up into the dark mists
of his cloudy thoughts.
skin tingles,
horripilation,
his mind’s eye sees her frame,
a silhouette against his thoughts.
his mind’s hands take hold
silk and velvet,
skin white as fresh milk
skin sweet as fresh honey.
short hair dances
from the kisses of wind
of his mind’s whispers.
hard to live
with the pieces he has had
to live without.
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