Digress.

I digress.
Concerns interrupt
But the vault below
Still hoards a healthy stockade.
Those strands,
A hot, hot macrame
No signs yet-
Of loosening.
I'm craving that cycle
The fidgety hip
With jutting insignias
Pointed high in morning
Pitched tents- in heat.

I wonder-
Do the kidney's feel that warmth?
Can a liver discern arousal?
In the highway of such vast blood-flow
How far does the erogenous zone- extend?