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

Let’s Normalize Matrons Flashing

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Let’s normalize matrons flashing
I fancy the unexpected & a little brash
She gets my eyes swirling & I’m lightheaded
Fully transfixed; my heart’s going to crash

I can’t help but stare at her dancer’s legs
My eyes keep placing them in second position
The way they move without effort
My pulse quickens; a love in transition

To the glee of an unsuspecting audience
The mesmerized & enchanted crowd
Now forever willing to do her bidding
She winked at me & couldn’t be more proud

I Caught You Outside In Your Slip

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I caught you outside in your slip
The gossamer wisps within my view
A ripe side of the ever lovely
I couldn’t help but stare at you

Running through a Summer rain
Racing to the steps of a Victorian porch
Draped in a thin dress of pale tulle
The heavy heart of a burning torch

Amid the seduction of incantations
I knew your illusions were clear
Transparent upon the fresh flesh
& I thought only my intentions were sheer

I always look where no one looks
Trying to see what no one is willing to see
Saturated; glory beyond Heaven’s bounty
I’m out here shooting for immortality

I Saw The Most Beautiful Woman

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I saw the most beautiful woman in the world
But then, I noticed she couldn’t stop staring
Her eyes directly focused on my button-fly
“Are those Bugle Boy Jeans, you’re wearing?”

I tried to summon the confidence to answer
But only a stammer & a pathetic gurgling sound
She drove off without a look in the rearview
Such a chance as that moment, I’ve never found

With Summer’s Moonlight Shining Down

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With Summer’s moonlight shining down
We’re not alive to merely appease everyone
Reminder to exist for your soul’s own sake
Basking in the fickle warmth of the rising sun

Released from those winter storms
Contending with heat & humidity down there
Be comfortable in your sovereignty
& thus release yourself from their stares

Do not double back & suffer fools
Stretch to become your complete ability
Expanding your mind to finally believe
& thus be fully & truly free

My Love Resembles

My love resembles
A smattering of prose
Lady, I beg you
Won’t you touch those toes?

I’ll create any dream you like
Stories, poems or tales
Infatuation lingering now
Smitten with all you avail

I wish for your subtle tease
But I can’t handle your stare
I’ll write anything you please
Though I fear you’re quite rare

She Was Enraged

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She was enraged
But it was merely an aesthetic
Undiagnosed shakedown calamity
Her stare leaving me cold & pathetic

She asked me why I was a Pisces
I told her I used to drink like a fish
Though attempts at humor fell flat
I was awkward; she was such a dish

I’m not as spectacular as I may seem
Age filters vexing characteristics instead
She looked upon me with curious disdain
Tangibly conceding to the voices in my head

Margaret Chittenden

“Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”
― Margaret Chittenden