a study toward sonnet #839 by FisherKingKQJ
My chin trapped with a fingertip and thumb,
In your blue eyes there was a mocking glint;
I was quite speechless as if swallowing gum,
As my mind rankled words not fit to print.
You bent your head down low to peck a hint
Across my beestung lips, so parched with ire;
As yours were tender pressing for their stint,
Expert, soft, slick, somehow my own caught fire.
You grabbed the small of my back into gyre,
Madly, I clasped my arms round your triceps,
Sculpted your wide shoulder blade edges higher,
Then I was grasped tight by your hard biceps.
O, how could I fall for such a blatant cynic,
Who learnt all his strokes in a macho clinic?
(Chorus)
o $10,000 cynic
o $10,000 pragmatist
o $10,000 realist
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]
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