Needless Things: Ants in the Pants

She’s got ants in her pants and a look in her eye, Like summer just winked and set sparks in the sky. She’s shifting and squirming, but not from the heat— It’s the kind of combustion that starts at your seat.

She walks like a riddle, all rhythm and sway, With a secret that tingles and won’t go away. No chill in her drink, no breeze in the air Can cool the sensation—those ants in her underwear.

Not critters, oh no, it’s a different kind, The kind that stirs trouble and tangles the mind. It’s hunger, it’s longing, it’s lightning, it’s dance— A full-body fever, not left up to chance.

She’s got places to be, but her body won’t rest, With a whisper of want pressed tight to her chest. And the world’s none the wiser, but she doesn’t care— Let them wonder what’s up with her underwear.

So next time you see her, all flushed and entranced, Know she’s burning inside with those ants in her pants. It’s not just the heat—oh no, take a glance... She’s a wildfire woman, just itching to dance. NNN