Troll in the Corner

Your touch so soft,
The sound you make a gentle prelude to thunder.
Turning and twisting you rub yourself against me.
Lips curled in a permanent smile,
Back arched in a languid stretch.

Do you think of me,
When I do not touch you?  Do not drive
You into frenzied states of pleasure?
Rolling on the floor, mouth agape.
Sleeping silently after, smiling.

I often wonder,
As I bend to my inevitable task,
Would you love me if I did not feed your needs?
Then I smile, reminded of your face,
As I change your litter box.

Technorati Tags: pleasure, poetry, meow

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