Ants in Your Pants

I’ve rejected it all
We’re just intelligent Ants,
Work and eat and hunt
And get into your pants,
Like those itty-bitty somethings
Climbing on my shoes,
When I was watering the grapes
And singing the Blues.

Forehead sweat in rivulets
Running down my nose,
Blistering hot beneath the sun
It’s time to find the hose,
Watering the grapes and roses
Beware those spikes of dread,
This is just about the time
I start to think of you in bed.

The best of kissing ever
Imagination primed,
Willing to go the distance
No period to be defined,
The beauty of the moment
A territorial claim,
Later, memory brings it back
To honor; Oh, that Dame!

Poetry allows
Poetic license to tell a story,
Surreptitiously; fact or fantasy
Written well in all its glory,
And whether or not I was there
To render such amorous deeds,
Just bumping into a rose
Why, almost everyone bleeds.


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