those impressionist guys
colored the curves just right
i have those fuzzy images
that can't always be realized
like a stuck zipper
on a black skirt
that once covered
the sparseness of
your fancy moppet
a soft midstroke kiss
in the middle of your
converstation
heading to a position
on the floor
rolling topography
and my thumb inside
your flumes of desire
alcohol and risque manauvers
creating the atmostphere
of comfortable pleasure
falling asleep with your whisper
humming through my dreams
like butterflies singing the blues