Jul 092009

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.


[tags]pleasure, poetry, meow[/tags]

About Ben

I'm a geek. A nerd, a dweeb, whatever. Yes I owned garb, yes I still own medieval weaponry. And yeah, I could kick your butt in Mechwarrior the CCG. I love video games, role playing games, tactical board games and all forms of speculative fiction. I will never berate someone for wanting to be a Jedi and take everything Gary Gygax ever wrote as gospel. Well, all of this but that last bit.

  One Response to “Pleasure”

  1. Lovely poem!

    Speaking of litterboxes, my own three cats seem to have been particularly busy last night……

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