She Is My Sugar Dumpling And I Am The Imported Cinnamon Poem by Ted Sheridan

Her body may have retired
in its fifties and moved
south for the weather but
her mind is as sexual as ever
and when she talks dirty my ears
perk up like a horned toad.
It is then when the unexpected but much
appreciated excitement excretes
the most sensitive of my desires;
not to mention a sticky tongue
with which to devour the nectar
of her most precious honey pot…

2008 © on the eve of my 60th year