Rosealba

My drawn out bitter commute
Is all forgotten as soon as
We skip dinner and root
Under an Ikea duvet

You knickerless
Me without a suit shirt

My rabid mouth
At the sweet strap
Like a sewer rat

It almost frays
But impatient you
Rip, pull and hurl it away
Towards the dresser

You shed the last detail
In post dinner freedom

Sucking for salt whimpers
The sour echo simmers

It grows
And all the tadpole babies
Itching in my balls flow
To the Ovary Office in the sweet

Sometimes umami

Snatch of Rosealba's.