Itchy

What happens to you in the morning? What do you feel the deep laconic musings of existential existence...I thought not. Oh maybe you ladies do, but this poem is about my first thoughts each day before I wake. Sometimes honesty no matter how depraved is the poets ideal and there's a lot to be said for following the dictates and rhytms of the body. In any case enjoy this fun little romp entitled Itchy. An Itch I suspect everyone who has read this post has felt many, many, many times (whether they admit it or not)

Itchy

I have a perculiar itch
and an urge
I need to catch you
and catch it

I want to flow over you and
through you and into you
I want to stick and prick
and scratch

I want to lick and kick
and bite and
scratch my itch

I want to suck and plunder
and rip and draw blood and
scratch the itch

I want it to be raw and ripe
steady strong and tight
tasty like a memory and fragrant
like a running nose
and rancid rose

I have a perculiar itch
A desire to scratch
and one to pinch
I want to do all these things
but mostly I am animal
and I want to
scratch my itch