If my eyes dying
of thirst upon your
tits flung from a moving
dress should catch
in my throat like
a crane-snatched frog,
drawing out in a gurgling whine
and a face horrible to look upon, caught
and pinned
by your narrowed
gotcha eyes, face souring, tits
indignant and ready
to spit accusation - before
you judge,
my eyes
have already conceded all
standing and right
to your tits.
And I bow my head,
ready to take what fits.
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