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If there are such things
as heart strings,
you’re playing on mine.
Your fearless fingers fly up and down my neck, pluck-snap me, slap-spin me around. Close your eyes, tilt your head right, hug me close, shoulders curving over the tops of me. I’m prone against your chest, helpless and pulsing out these big deep ship-belly booms. When you’re showing off, you push me away from you like LOOK MA NO HANDS and I thrum, thrum, so deep.

Coming back to my body I remember I’m not the only one in this underground bar.

You have transported that guy in the corner to another universe.
He has completely lost control over his face. From behind and to the right I watch his muscles working:

We clap for your solo.
Then you're off again.

Your d-double-kick gets caught in my mouth.
Turns my cheeks up.
Metal and snare and wooden sticks and your pink tongue poking out the corners of your mouth. I stick my tongue out too like we’re kids on a playground.
Your high hat tastes like freezer burn on ice cream, only better.
It gets confused with the watery whiskey sucked through the plastic straw burning down in my belly and my feet are tapping, tapping.


Phoenix said...

This is gorgeous. Great, now I miss the Gypsy Lounge.

Ray Manukay said...

Fun and Sexy! Great stuff.

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