Just for today
I'm the cubicle bogeyman.
My snatch sack over your head
rag bandages and distilled terror on my finer points.
I'm hiding under your desk right now
maybe snacking on forgotten granola bar crums,
staring at those dainty panties you wore two days in a row
Questioning the wisdom of you never checking under the desk.
grinding with anticipation...
All that silky flesh
snuggly crammed into nylon mesh...
Its almost like the scent of nightshade
or staring into the sun.
and not a drop to drink.
Free refills, today only.
But nothing to hold it in.
Oh the bad things I'm going to do today-
When you're not looking
when you feel safe.
The odd, wet, tingling sensations I'll feel today...
as I wish feverishly for you to share them.
That peculiar madness of danger dancing over your loins, with those fingertips of seductive flirtations under the desk.
Like a hot caramel apple, still oozing from the dredge.
Like so many long slow licks against firmament.
When in doubt, Colony drop.
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