Cupboard Love

Cupboard Love

Dobson heard those watchmen whisper

of chafing skin, bursts of blister,

doubled bent back with sore aching knees,

tossed frilly damp black lace panties

and this love cupboard’s special keys

mislaid, veiled from big brother’s CCTV.

Entrance exams were conducted swiftly within,

with dexterous strokes and parting grin.

Slight of touch with passionate words,

he shepherds corridors for the straying herd,

Scotty bare concealed his fevered need

to hook older ladies who had gone to seed

slightly; his foible, his penchant, his errant kink,

takes all of them straight to passions’ brink,

with generous laugh and knowing winks

made moist with leaking, tickled pink

to kneel down upon tiled floor and drink.

Plucked beauties all; well versed in muck,

quite blissful in the halter to give suck,

starved nightly, oozing lust’s grubby smut;

stuck husbands moaned of crack and rut.

His flaming wits smouldered long overtime

when he could, stiffening his rampant resolve

for each, burning her cheeks with grime,

she sighing blousey sobbed duets in time

to the friction of her raw rubbing knees,

hang heavy tempting forty Ds to double Gs,

fumble forward with tender tugs, squeeze

those heaving hands, tantalize and tease me,

in my last gasp of make it last, oh, oh, Scotty.

Off timetable, filling up all those free slots,

with inspired use of dark cupboard spaces,

bra straps and laces, slip by in cunning knots,

devilish devices, loud cry those locked hidden places.

Yes, yes - appetites were made to be this free

and, surely, Dobson can’t help but agree.

In the end, caught napping, sent packing;

bureaucrats complained work was hard to do

with exam papers tacky and stuck like glue.

Or perhaps each guessed the other’s name,

fingered blame, felt false shame, ended games;

what cupboard love remained snuffed the flame.

Laying on his shoulder only sympathetic fingers,

long lost now; merely his song lingers

behind the dead-locked door and rusty hinges.