Huffing

Little poem, little poem, may I come in?
I scent you crouching in your house of straw
I hear you scuffling in your home of twigs
I glimpse you in your bricky fortress

I slaver at the smell of your crisp flesh
my eyes roll at imagined pleasure when
my wet tongue encounters your plump thighs
probes your damp mysteries

I knock upon your door, polite as polling day
wearing my best Jehovah’s Witness smile
but you hang back, pretend you are not home.
I stroll away, swing round, the flutter of the nets

betrays you. I take a turn around the block
try all your doors, wheedling to show yourself.
Don’t stand still, hold breath, but welcome me
give yourself like a willing teenage bride.

Little poem, little poem, may I come in?