What am I anticipating?
A knocking at my door.
Chance for some prevaricating:
I'm naked on the floor.

Random bits of scintillating
Chit-chat from above:
Floating hyperventilating
Moans of making love.

The stranger coming to my gate
Will knock and pass on by;
I will not move nor soon nor late
Till I'm on wing to fly.

My finger knows its ready dance;
I dance and bop for one.
I suffer now no lustful glance
Except from yonder sun.

I paint my eyes for random skies
That beam down bright for me,
And to their face I'll bind in lace
The breasts I loose for thee.