Whenever I bring you to the stairs You go down them, my eyes fill with tears. Why do you run from me like that? Is it because I made your sister twisted and flat? I miss the times when we were close. Like the time you got tangled in my clothes. I miss putting you on my ears, and around my chin. Cuz who would I be? President Abraham Slinkoln. I miss touching your curves, and holding you in my hands. It made me feel special, it made me feel like a man. But now, I see you going down and down and down. Down the stairs you go, but you stopped. What does this mean? Does the mean you want me back? That you love me? I run down the stairs and there you'd be. Standing there. Tilted slightly. I pick you up, and you stretch like always. I love you and all your curling ways. Oh no, here comes the mistress. Behind my back you go. We must be quiet. No sound. No Mess. She asks, "What are you up to?" I reply, "Nothing dear. What about you?" She then replies, "Nothing. I'll be waiting upstairs." Up the stairs she goes, she glances down with an erotic stare. I must leave you, my love. I'll be back again when I'm not getting kinky. I'll always love you. For you are my Slinky. Ok...Don't ask. I don't know. I got bored, so I did a poem about a Slinky. Hope you enjoyed it.
Reminds me of someone always wanting sex, and then, when they finally get the opportunity, they refuse. I'm not exactly sure why, but thank you for the mental image. Excellent work!