You weigh them out
like the Romans
once did in the marketplace,
twirl them around
like juggler's tools,
sift them
as if they were
made of gold dust.

And when you play,
scuff your knees
with your fetish,
you say you can smell
my must through the skin.

O Sweet Dish,
how I love
that contented look
on your gorgeous pretty-face!

O You Beauty,
how I enjoy
every single moment
of me
rising
above you
in nirvana-glory!