An Intimate Itch

A certain itch it’s like no other, descending as Vesuvious burning tyre, a nuee ardente of fire Manouver all you will, to no sweet avail; it’s your hand that’s needed, no matter what audience papers the house Yes, a magazine or folded coat can often shield the work required, but please, no sighs or muted cries desired Then good performance must transpire, to shift the well-placed hand from view And when the fire is doused, as such, and all one’s thoughts removed from crotch Reflect on how you saved the day, with folded coat on nuts in May