she knew she
probably shouldn
't listen, but she couldn
't help herself, the wa
y wrds curled in be
hind her mind's gar
den gate, gentl
y edged in jus
t underneath hr
skirt's hem, an
d slowly slid
up hr thighs.

she simply couldn
't, didn't, well, wouldn
't, stop hr mind frm
parting hr knees a little,
even, yes, a little more,
because a wrd is
only a wrd, isn
't it?

tickled hr brain,
let hr smile-eyes close,
no harm done,
and nobody knew
how good,
how really good,
it made hr,
how good it
made hr feel —
it made hr

a wrd is a wrd,
only a wrd, but a
gd wrd's hard, to
find one isn't easy,
coolhot, layback, re
lax, floatydream,
a gd wrd
takes its
time — feathers,
moonheat, sigh,
cry, smile. . .

a nite on th
e town, cuppa coff
ee, inexpensive, se
cret high, the way wrds
curl inside the mind li
ke smoke rings, spar
kle behind the eyes li
ke a handful of je
wels, slipsip
sliding easy-smooth
into mindtalk,
spinning lights
and sometimes
revolving red-orange
colorglows, a
dizzy-high w/litt
le gasps, throa
ty chuckles, flash-
point realizations.

and af
ter wrds,
best of all,
no guilt, hango
ver, rash, expla
nation, apol
ogy, trs, frs, or
jittrs, maybe
a slight need
for more,
not too much,
just a litt
le, and not now,
but later,
e down th
e line.