Waggle and Jounce by Donal Mahoney
Out on the lake the white caps leap, old lions shot in mid-air . Not far from the water I sit on a knoll and open your letter. You're in Sacramento now singing for money. Here in Chicago, on hot August nights, I lick in my dreams at the scoops in your shoulders. I prefer them to ice cream. In a week I'll fly out and salute your nipples. Long may your buttocks waggle and jounce.