Lint

How I love the man who cleans my lint
He sits beside me clucking as he strokes
"Do you fell better now?" he asks
My black skirt ripples in his lap

I would build a boat for him
Skim the seas with scarlet sails
I'd give him gold butterflies--
Twine them in his beard

But I sit still, sated, stupefied
And that is why he does the work
He always does when my body
Has not yet risen with the dawn.

Oh, I rather like this, as it eases the worry out of being close. There is a nice interplay of themes, grooming, massage, the body as peaceful body to be explored in various ways; the connection between the ripples of the black skirt and the first line of the next stanza, "I would build a boat for him" is subtle and evocative.

This has the mark of someone who should be doing this for a living. If poetry paid.

What a wonderful, what an erotic, what a complete and nearly perfect piece!

I would take exception with the word clucking, but perhaps that is just me.

And I do not know why punctuation is haphazardly applied.

But that is all just nitpicking. I rather like this, too. In fact, I think it might be one of the better things I have read here, with the caveat that the subject matter is easier, perhaps, to capture.

Well done!

Take care,

Joe

Aw shicks Joe:

I'm you liked it. Maybe I will change cluckng back to cooing. Does that suit you better?

Well, you certainly got my intent. I have been trying, since postin here months ago, to be very clear and to move away from rhymes, which I use when writing songs.