Oh,
oh, oh,
oh,
oh, oh…

a ripple.

A ripple
at the nipple.

Supple and 
apple-sweet, it
peaks, peeks out
trembling…
rippling…tripping
the nip fantastic,
rhythm of apple-ripple
under and around 
the nipple…
oh, oh, 
oh, oh, oh…

I feel that. (Feel that?)
That feel? Can you, 
can you, can you
feel that
as you should,

oh, how then
to honor 
skin so shy, shy,
shrinking back
then 
tipping the ripple
ahead
and back, around
and
round, apple bump red
sweet skin taut
and night shine soft,
crisp to the tooth…

oh, 
a tipple-full night
of
sweet bumps and
slides,
suspended chords
sing 
in our throats, 
slip-whip-snap of head
and night long arc of swing
and fumble
and

rumble-ripple — 

OH!  THERE!

Oh,
oh, 
the jumble swift
sloppy
rolling sea of this,
this beach head
near
the orchard of night, this

all started

with ripple
at nipple,

ends

there.