Wet Sunday Mornings

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Wet Sunday mornings
Grass still damp from the rain
Fresh air still cool to the touch
Rising without a hint of pain

Voluptuary visions upon a treasured bond
Hoping we might become bosom buddies
Remotely fond of the Bon Vivant’s taste
When I proposed to you in the study

My parochial quips; unacceptable in polite society
Profane & unprintable odes to her formidable posterior
Writing what catches my mind’s eye
I can’t help it if my motives might be ulterior

Vice & folly are complimentary rectitudes
But please stop staring at the lady’s chest
There’s only so much to explain away
& no one cares the origin of your Preppy crest

Tell me what constitutes good head
With my mind clinging to her curves
These dreams; had their own Silicone Valley
Yet, when she speaks I’m a pile of nerves

Boxing Day is the day for cunninglingus
Cauliflower ear from her thighs
Witnessing nature’s perfect curvature
Nonperishable lust eschews the dandy’s lie

Vanity is fundamentally unstable
Draping you in silks & laces so gaudy
New souls full of an easy virtue
Just know, how badly I want your bawdy

Our Solemn Tales Of Passion & Woe

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Our solemn tales of passion & woe
My life is to slyly denote
Vigor sizzles quietly away
We try any which way but by rote

Always there to circumvent
Employing a nudist typist
But you get the gist eventually
You know, he was there to assist

You rushed out of my life & into the library
I still lust for you in that black dress
Never ashamed of how I feel
Surprised you expected any less

She’s Alone

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She’s alone
In spite of all the adoring eyes
Propped firmly on the pedestal
A solitary witness when lust dies

She’s been up there in isolation
The heroine of the bell tower
A slight teeter in her stance
Still defying gravity on the hour

Her alabaster skin shines at night
A chance to quietly & decidedly atone
The decadence of her marble bust
Fingerprints on her heart of stone

Another teary-eyed princess
With a vintage, tarnished crown
Yet, I cannot stop worshipping her
For who’ll catch us, when we all fall down

But from this distance
I cannot properly love her

She’s My Medicine From The Loneliness

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She’s my medicine from the loneliness
With no hint or side effects of pride
She’s my reason for the sly smirk
Do not be afraid to lust for your bride

We All Were The Favorite Poets Of Our Circles

we all were the favorite poets of our circles

awaiting the rest of the world to acknowledge

expecting society to lust for our words

yet no one owes us anything; 

become good & make them feel

anything 

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Our Nakedness Is Best

Our nakedness is best

Embracing the natural glory of bridal lust

Silken sheets draped over vulnerable flesh

Nothing more generous than her copious bust

Searching for each other in the dark

Feeling the nerves of the unnamed

Blamed for objectification of beauty

Obscured by passion of the untamed

Invoking the obstacle to love

Falling voiceless midstream

Our consensual fantasies

Not a normal woman, yet a rare dream

Let me compose my magnum opus

Moans & silences are highly deductive

We cling to each other forever

Yet the eye contact is steadily seductive

Perfect tendencies as I slowly caress

Knowing the words to make you blush

Grand moments of our unrestrained union

Grateful you’re still my soul-revealing crush

Good Morning, Beautiful

Good morning, Beautiful
I’ve brought some coffee to share
Bathe me in your deep caresses
Make me abandon my laissez faire
Intentions have never been pure
I exist in complicated ways
I believe in healthy love & lust
& setting fire to our communiques

Such A Difference

 

Such a difference
In a button or two
How you tease me
The way you do

My weary spirits
Begin to rise
You make it hard
To look you in the eyes…

Run Away & Join The Circus

I want to run away & join the circus
To be done with this life at sea
To kiss the ground she walks on
Solid foundations forever under me

Scribbling love notes to my lady
Creating a new world of literary lust
A positive existence springing forth
My happiness nestled within her bust

Empty Wine Bottles Clink; Devoid Of All Inspiration

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Empty wine bottles clink; devoid of all inspiration
But that’s not the way you remembered they bled
Choosing the perfect wording for posterity
A trembling shadow of what the poets once said

We once set out to create a fresh universe
But that’s not the way I can any longer think
Falling in love with strange, beautiful women
The source & reason for all the dedicated ink

Our souls entwined in deliberate communion
But that’s not the way that I came to be lost
Specific writings to engrave our cosmic lust
Forever entombed within this highland frost

You Have All Your Beautiful Decorations

You have all your beautiful decorations

Your Louis bag & Burberry coat

Flaunting everything which couldn’t be

Knowing how to get my bloody throat

You’ll find your adornments gone someday

They’ll suddenly be missing as you wake

Feeling distraught with nothing left

You’ll be lonely without any Real Estate

You’ll have no glamour & no identity

Find a need to fold back within yourself

No one will care, so no reason to hide

You’ll no longer be living on the top shelf

Downcast eyes revealing all exposed lies

Once the object of unparalleled lust

Age without refinement turns ugly

Life’s not so pretty, fallen from the upper crust

I Can Do This All Day

I can do this all day
Make you lust for my words
For they’ll just keep comin’