I think I want to play with you, sit on these steps and pose for you, stick around as long as I can
to stay with you. I might spend the entire day blowing bubbles and kisses to amuse you. I could wear this fedora 1,000 ways for you.


Bet you didn’t know I’m a pro at reading novels and essays? In these April rays, I can allay your worries under the music of my words, making poetry sway and sashay. Hey, I’ll build a stage on the lawn and wave the gnats away, while simultaneously reciting Nikki, Maya and Alice. What? You haven’t heard what they say? Woman, I can write midnight love poems in your flesh more memorable than all the rest.


Playing with me, you’re sure to be hungry. Good thing, ’cause it’s okay. I’m a huntress in the kitchen, slaying any dish you desire is my wish. Jill ain’t got nothing on me. Baby, for you, I’d prepare the sweetest parfait, leave my love in the souffle, stir devotion in the sorbet and saute anything your palate conjures. Once your hunger’s sated, I’ll puree roses and massage their aroma into your skin, you relaxed and splayed across my sleigh bed. My sweet, don’t you know how deep my love goes?


Play with me. We can shine bright like Rihanna’s diamonds in the sky. Perhaps they’ll ready you for the diamond between my thighs.


Baby Love, never fear. There’s no betrayal here. On your window sill, I’ll sing sweeter than a blue jay flown in from Bombay. Let’s run the beach and splash in Sri Lankan waves. Ever been served by a lady valet? I’ll wrap your fav colors in a vibrant bouquet in green cellophane. When soft shadows fall, I’m going to dance a sultry ballet in garb lighter than x-rays just to turn you up.


I never come halfway, boi. And don’t even think passe. I’m risque, more fragrant than the last Hawaiian lei you made me. No grey day with me, babe. Can’t be cliche. Hey, what I am is an array of your deepest desires. Your call girl, life hired. Your Gay Cafe serving eye candy and ordering up sexy soirees.


Mmmm hmmm, I wanna be your play list of love songs, from Trey to Chris to Kanye. Yea. We’ll play so hard Little Miss Muffet might go missing. No dissing, but if she does, I’ll write myself onto her tuffet. After all, my curds and whey are guaranteed to make you mine. No spiders bad enough to drift down beside this lady.


So, c’mon, gorgeous. Let’s play.

(c) Claudia Moss 4/17/2015



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