MY STRIPPER BOOK

A blank ruled sheet sits on the table;

fancy enough, like a tipsy stripper,

looking at the man, waiting to be lured.

Eyes drool as it stares back, hard enough;

asking my fingers to hold the pen and ink her,

just as a she commands the man to skip a note from the pocket.

My swaying fingers hold the pen, ready to write,

and the paper sighs!

Softly, as my fingers rub against it,

moaning, as the nib trickles it.

Words flow out like blood through veins;

handwriting fucked but no impression in vain;

As if in the final throws, the last world feels of life's first orgasm!