You have a cigar mouth, the teeth are
perfectly sharp to snap at the tip and grip
the paper like a cunt
and you hold me
you hold me like that in the cup of your lips.
The tip of your tongue rolls me up.
Dart a finger through the mist and please,
do a little strip with those eyes of yours;
I shiver down to my quick.
You have card shark hands, your fingers
call my bluff, my front, my puff and blow
every time, every time.