The Last Touch
You be my love for you come from my roots
You hate my black overall and black rubber boots
You adore brutes
Who wear white socks and black suits
Why should I trap a suit when I sweat in a mortuary?
I only write of corpse in my diary
Some hairy,
Some scary,
Some skinny
And some stinky,
Flee you may from my handshake.
Run you may from my pat on your back
Needless to say it is a fact
I will give you the last touch.
After your mother has given you
That loving touch on your cheeks
After your father has given you
That soothing touch with his fingertips
After your t(b)oyfriend has given you
That sensational touch from dusk until six
I will give you the last touch.
I am a friend of the undertaker,
One who understands the job of a soul taker
You will face the barrel in a robbery
You will rest in my busy room, the mortuary
And I will give you the last touch.
Gently my palms will race past
All your curves from the hair to the nail
Softly my fingers will explore the
Broad petal
And the stiff finger
Of your long-preserved virginity.
So why wait for the last touch
When the touch that will touch you last
Is the touch,
That can now give you a better touch.
I was drowned in your ocean of love
Now I am floating like a body unfound
Listening to the passionate sound
Of your voice so loud
Heating my thoughts like in Hell I am bound.
Copyright © Robson Shoes Lambada | Year Posted 2008
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