Strike a postwar pose, and let
lavish light lubricate those curves.
One eye swerves to greet you,
the other stutters with delight.
Something tells me that we
might make delicious company,
slow explosions of touch
and delirious kisses.
I can’t decide which lovelorn
muscle misses you more. My,
how the body’s cravings
consistently amaze.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 