Strum Me Like a Guitar

i love when you
saddle me on your lap—your arms
cradling around me at the waist.
 
you tune me, by pinching  
on the dark nubs of my bosom—
the other hand's fingers tracing  
in my inner thighs over the silky,  
skin-tone nylon—
 
i squeal
 
loudly to let you know i am ready.
and you begin to strum me, at first
slowly to hear me moan at the ceiling;
you love the music i sound in ecstasy.
 
you strum me faster—your fingers
finding the innocent pearl between  
my lips that controls my breathing.
 
you know exactly how to make me
howl, gasp, and muffle, and when—
as if the nylon no longer exists, only
my tender flesh against yours.
 
i explode—
 
still trembling as you lay me down,  
then pulling lightly on my tights—
your topaz baton—excite in nectar.
 
oh here comes the encore!