No lover, approach the undefended.
The patient, on his table, waking from the ether,
Terrified to tear the drip from his arm,
Has no recourse to prevent your amorous operations.
My patient, my patient: repeat this while stroking his hair,
And lovingly fit an oxygen mask tight over his working mouth.
Lovingly fit the organ tight in his working mouth.
His tight mouth working lovingly over your organ.
Swing low, crouch low, squeeze the fleshwarm drip bag.
Teabag plunk, plunge, dive, and dye a milkcloud.
Rosy mouths multiplied lovingly over your organ,
Give a warm squish to the dripbag.
Like a stroke, the patient jacknifes.
You jacknife your hips, and this repeats.
Dripping, you wander the sterile hallways,
Breathing the medicine, in a poorly tied--and this is intentional--gown.
As a memory, you've returned to the same table,
But years later, married now, divorced now,
Giving a warm squish to the dripbag.
(It dyes a milkcloud). And suck the stolen drip.