You bend like a reed when I blow in your ear
sing prettily as my fingers tinkle the keys of your spine
To land at you hips, pliant, mine
You like it like this, its in your kiss

I like it too. I like you

I’d like it too

Primped and made up to delight
For you or whom?

Just for myself?

You’re so happy
That must be nice

A.H / K. H-H (20??)

This is an old poem. I was unsure of it. I’ve not even saved it and recorded when it was written. Too direct, prosaic. I found it in a pile of scrap paper and it has interested me again, a bit. Maybe incorrectly.