Dog Eyes

The sting and the prickle,

Has left an inner tickle;

‘Bout the size of a nickel,

Like the juice of a pickle.

 

Sometimes it emanates,

And then it radiates;

He simply cannot wait,

For it to ‘vaporate.

 

When he wined, she whined,

Mind fucked comes to mind;

Her wind helped him unwind,

But her kind was not so kind.

 

When her fingers make a fist,

And refused to be kissed;

He was fodder to be dissed,

Most everything is missed.

 

Way down from below.

It was not just for show;

But if everything must go,

Then he should really know.

 

When her heart made a flip,

And she couldn’t get a grip;

So he just bit his lip,

When he made every trip.

 

There’s always expectations,

Despite many hesitations;

And life’s fluctuations,

With his miscalculations.

 

There must be something wrong,

Or was it all along?

Together they might belong,

But that’s another song.