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Yes, you're one sexy witch, dear love, but now it's Halloween,
    And I've a witchy tale to share, so keep your broom between ...

Five decades hence I knew the thrills of flesh, and did imbibe,
    Yet there's but one that's apt to still pop up, let me describe:

It starts with just a tickled tip that twitches toward my toes,
    As oft' can be a grandeur glitch, until what's grander, grows.

In dermal terms, my skin can squirm to feel infirmed and wet,
    What fairer sexes call 'the glow', (we lesser-fair's call 'sweat').

Now when that glow has burst, I'm first immersed in finding you,
    For you've the spunky junk to free the monkey from his zoo.

I'm damned if I can speak, my cheeks just bubble up with suds,
    The things that hang or dangle, cursed to tangle with my duds.

I'm apt to find my fingers filled with zippers, buttons, snaps ...
    And spouting things like "I love you", to fill the awkward gaps.

Those tickles turn to tingles and they mingle through an urge,
    That brings our things together 'midst a single clinging merge.

Its fever gives new meaning to the old phrase come-and-gone,
    And your sexy pose, (and fewer clothes), will always bring it on.

Now please don't fear, my vixen dear, when tickling has begun,
    No stopping what is popping up, there's lots of hopping fun ...

The barrel of my kitschy gun has schemes it needs to hatch,
    And when my love-lust itches, hon, it's you I aim to scratch!





Written and submitted on October 21, 2019
For the "Itch, Witch, Glitch, Or Twitch" Poetry Contest
Nina Parmenter, Sponsor.

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