Till The Cows Come Home

Till the cows come home.
Only cows?
Can be sheep, pigs, storks, whatever.
Chickens?
Even chickens.
Good, I have chickens. I don't have cows.
Bad.
Why? I thought you said 'whatever'.
Whatever you don't have.
I don't get it. So cows, fine.
I still don't get it.
I'll love you till the cows come home.
But I don't have cows... oh...

It took one full second, well, she was after one full glass of wine,
the cheeks turning lurid blush
the skin turning crushed glass
the frown metamorphosing smile
all the way from a lemon slice into a sliced watermelon
while her hands were looking desperately for a way
from beneath the hem of my shirt
all the way along my bare back and up to my shoulders.
Thank goodness, sometimes she gets it.

It was easier for my hands to find a way
from beneath the hem of her skirt
all the way along her bare thighs and bare back
(with a small strategic pause along the way)
and up to her shoulders.
There was a mirror in back of her, the lure was irresistible...
I started moving from the shoulders down the front
before she moved hastily away.

Wait!
Wait for what?
For the cows to come home.
But... but... but...
It wasn't my habit to stutter yet I stuttered like it was.
My cheeks turned lurid red for other reasons,
the crushed glass lining my skin melted into collapsing mush,
my lemon took over from my watermelon...
She sat at the desk and tore a piece of paper in two.
On one she wrote cows,
on the other she wrote house,
then put the cows under the house.
Then she got up and faced me,
bringing my hands back exactly there
where they interrupted their journey towards the mother of gravitation.
Okay, the cows came home.
I guess I was still dumbfound, or whatever the word.
Thank goodness, you will never get it.
She took hold of my belt.

Sex was not even invented
until that one moment after.