Old Acquaintance

 Hello there, old chap
It's that time again
I know you're chaffed but don't blame me
It's Google's fault.
Or more specifically, Mayte Carranco's

I'm sorry!
I have a weakness

Well let's get on with it
Slide my hand inside your chamber
Grip you tight enough to incite this riot
To break glass and steal moments from their displays
Fantasies of caramel skin and thick, black hair
Soft breasts, sweet whispers and impeccable rhythm
She knows just what I want

"Choking the Bishop?"
Well, this is the closest I'm ever going to get to God
And her 
Her Spanish so thick her screams have an accent
The tension finds its throne and builds, 
Drumming a war din within
My mouth opens 
And just a series of gasps escape as we near our destination
A countdown running toward the heavens
And we're done for!

The rocket is off and the cargo is dropped 
all over my orange tartan bedspread
A slight trickle of guilt seeps in
As I stare at the spill
Whatever.
There's more where that came from.