If there were in that pocket of yours a cigarette case I would curl and hide within it until a moment unexpected--
Then crawl out sly to lick your hipbones and run my hand up your thigh; cause a flush to rush across your face as you mingled in public, amidst friends,
You would know again how the little rattle feels which is a dozen small inhales in a row, and those in your company might wonder, why the glow?
A secret, it would be,
And that would make that piece of cake taste all the sweeter; this is desire speaking.