Chempals

If I could just trace down his spine,

And arousingly pur in his ear from behind,

He would let me pass my palm across his smart forehead,

And wind my hand through his locks of hair.

If I could be a pussy cat feeding off from his hand,

I’d no longer require permission to lick his tender skin.

My tabby charm should then work its magic

By luring him to fondle my bosom for a while.

If I could for a day make arrangements for him,

To wear me instead of his pearly-white glasses,

I would cherish sliding on his nose bridge.

If I could make a bargain with fate

As to have a place for me reserved 

On the Periodic Table, I definitely would

Ride on victory forevermore, as his eyes 

Never fail to look upon me and my other chempals.