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A Poem for Traci

because I would, as a child, creep out of my room for an opportunity
to peruse the naked flesh of Madame Cynthia: Dear Traci,
How scandalous in nature, was my infatuation? 
Tommy bent over, receiving end game therapy, while Ms. Vanessa washed and blew the curtains.  I still rise to the moment
the scandals have not diminished that.  

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Dear Traci,

  How scandalous in nature,

       was my infatuation? 

             Tommy bent over,

                   receiving end game therapy,

                         while Ms. Vanessa washed and blew the curtains. 

                              I still rise to the moment

                             the scandals have not diminished that. 

                          Now, some dirty tramp of old

                    just mewes about a roundtree,

              and I wish I could strut up like Tommy

         and slap my tail down. 

  Take a, slick, trip down your alleyway,

Let My Lady of Lords grow deep in my conjecture,

as planned perspective;

I still jones for your affairs.