Poems ✍️

The deftness of her fingers
did pale inside the shade
of testosterone initiation.
There were no additives
and no preservatives
no monosodium glutamate
and the Glycaemic Index
was nowhere to be seen.
The heart, needless to say
was pitting, in confusion,
the left against the right
and, in the fading light
came understanding from above.
It was the moon that saw
what humans say when
not the chips but britches are
down in the dew-kissed grass.
And then, the giant Cloud of Decency
rose quickly in the sky
it oversaw, as is its faithful job
the learning of deft fingers.