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.