Stimulus Check.

3am
Still awake
Writing songs of loneliness
On crowded looseleaf lines

Give me space
For a lover to fit
Her curves around mine
His protection of my prime

Let my pen please palates
Palabras bounce from my lips to yours
Drink the the decadence of my identity
A sweet cream sliding down your throat

Then hitting your intuitions
Guts churning the feeling
Of guilty pleasure

Your fingertips longing to touch my temples
Mixing physical with mental stimulation
Producing riches beyond belief.