At the sigh(t) of hands 
slipping in hands I get woozy.
I sit and listen to streets
Streaked with wet gravel.
Words bounce against the pavement 
Up against the concrete
Jump through my window and fall in my lap.
I get woozy.

I’ve put silk across my skin…black, old, 
perfect-drape-across hips.
I smell wet leaves under soft cotton
And remember him(s)
tight and taunt pressed strong against my back
My back warm against his press.
I get woozy.

I slip silk off my skin…crisp, new,
 not-quite-right in the fit.
I wonder if there’s fruit in his looms
And I gazed on him tight and taunt
Pressed and lost against my back
My back arched away from his press
I get woozy
High on sweet nothings.

Like candy dripping hi-glow yellow sticky sugar streaked
Wet, moist against lips, oozing between fingers 
Like second skin
Peeling apart

The glucose, fructose fills my blood
My brain
Melts in my water and sends me flying
Toward him

My belly jumps and gurgles then lurches
Filled with empty calories 
I beg for more
Pleading for a bite
Aching for a taste
Just a small taste
Just a tiny nibble?
Just a quick lick?
Just a little bit is all I need…

Of those sweet 
nothings. Oh yeah I get woozy.

Sometimes you can only plead
insanity.