"TRIPOD"  Poem by Chris (C) 2003

She sat there laughing
                  at my pumpkin colored hair
                  Staring out the window standing on the stairs
                  I reached down for my pocket pool queue
                  
                  She saw my playful baggy pants
                  and hands wrestling like to hampsters on fire
                  Like bottle rockets exploding under cotton
                  
                  Her eyes could not move away from my torso
                  Her lips wet in anticipation
                  She held her other hand like a young lover
                  And bit her tongue with her knees buckling
                  She dreames of what it means to be a pool queue
                  
                  He sees the phalic symbol on the table 
                  He stares at her strong grasp of it
                  And dreams of gliding through sweet silky hands
                  
                  He watches her hips sway as she lines up
                  Heart pulsing with palpitation
                  And dreams of touching such fine hips in a future life
                  
                  His eyes could not move from her bustline
                  His stare could not be broken
                  He held his tripod like a teenager
                  And bit his tongue with knees buckling
                  He dreams of what it means to be a pool queue