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by Chris Sorrenti

You ask me to write poetry
The kind that always rhymes
I tell you I’m incapable
Haven’t got the time

So you make fun, call me names
Say my work’s bizarre
What can I do but capture you
With the long arm of the poet’s law

And now I’ve got tight leather laces
That refuse to let you go
Stiff flowery feathers
Pointed at your toes

For you, you are my lovelies
I want to let you know
My fingers to make you shiver and shudder
Till across your face it shows

Let’s lift the covers and look beneath
Where pretty treasures hide
We’ll dust them off, make them shine
With a caress of my eagle’s plume

With a kitchie kitchie here
A kootchie kootchie there
To make you giggle like little girls
Until you finally coo

I love to play this ticklish game
Play it just with you
Pedicured friends call to me
I know what I must do

Fingernails to lightly scratch
Up and down your naked soles
Until you roar and call out UNCLE
I sing this song bizarre

© 1983
Revised © 2017, 2019

480 hits as of February 2021


Author's Note: For my alter-ego...the Mad Tickler.

Posted on 08/24/2017
Copyright © 2021 Chris Sorrenti

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