The Tingle of my Loin
by Josh Jacobs

The tingle of my loin,
resonates to the musk of your unshaved underarm.
An underarm that is clean.
Clean like a hobo.

I feel your aura,
like the waft from a public bathroom.

You I watch,
as the Amish watch television.
A broken television.

It is in jest this is all said,
for your training bra is my desire.
A bra which holds the buds of life.
A bra with bows.