They fly, float, whirl, hurl, stumble, and slam through the air.
More coveted than gold, silver, or coin of the realm for their short time in play.
The desire of many of a focused, eye, heart, and soul.
Hearts beat, pound, and thunder at the thought of touching, of controling these implements.
Body fluids course, stream, and drip onto the objects of desire, onto the playing fields, and onto the players themselves.
No one noticing, no one caring - it's all for one thing.
Unless you're the poor schumk who's been asked "Hey, man, you mind?" before touching the slimy, shining wet ball and tossing it back over the fence or onto the court.
No comments:
Post a Comment