"throb"
Beauty mark above your lip, luscious and scorned, voluptuous circumference...
Succulent cords, humming sweet nothings underneath your breath, warm with the whiff of rum from the Dutchess’s pour
The abducting allure that surrounded you, engulfing you; masking you in the red blush
that puckered you and plucked at you until you succumbed to its swarm
Your laughter erupted into applause, the clapping, the cuffing, the clasping,
your conjunction of palms, the combustion of discussion rung in my ear drums with rambunctious force and thunderous roar
Pursuers guzzled their bubbly and eye balled you in your dress that clung to your core
Ribbon in your hair, robust, supple breasts pushed up into form
The Irish woman worked the room until you, the sucker was born
Her seductive nature sent your endorphins rushing and your hearts pumping,
as she flustered you while drunk, with all your money galore
She brushed up on you with bluntness and asked if she could puff your blunt
"Sure... You love pot too?"
Handing her over the dutch that stunk of skunk,
And she sucked and sucked until the blunt shrunk into her lungs and stumped
He wasn't warned
He loved pot just as much as women, but much more
The leprechaun looked at the irish woman with repugnance and swore
Down on his luck, colorless, torn
The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorn -