Wet Sunday Mornings

Photo by Godisable Jacob on Pexels.com

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

The Harsh Expectations Of A Lady

Photo by Gabriela Guerino on Pexels.com

The harsh expectations of a lady
Rolling you out of your nylons
& into a plush bathrobe
Coffee tasting like steel girded pylons

Theories of internal transformation
The silence of the changing tides
The faded fashion of a glimpsed youth
Finding a peace where we can both reside

Collecting Fresh-Faced Girls With Monogrammed Asses

Photo by Roberto Nickson on Pexels.com

Collecting fresh faced girls with monogrammed asses
Spending the morning listening to the Blues
An old soul within that youthful mindframe
Toe tapping, blackout shades & misleading tattoos


I begin to think I’m the one lured
But all we have between us is coffee stained mug rings
Embrace the possibilities of the moment
Join in the beauty of desperate sorrow of BB King


This day is such a sunny tease
Through passion, we become another bedpost notch
A memory Today will keep for all posterity
As she makes me taste the glories of her vagazzeled crotch

You Have Your Notions Of Me

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

You have your notions of me
Whether it’s my rugged good looks
Or I’m a notorious scalawag
Though, I’m neither a hero nor a crook

I’m not a man of much persuasion
Nor am I a wild west outlaw
I choose to wear the eyepatch
But I’m more of a gentleman with flaws

I write fast & love slow
Without a care of what they say about me
When you have faith
You never have to wait & see

I quietly find my secrets within
Descended from that beautiful literary brogue
To hell with the naysayers; we’re gonna have fun
I’ll be your host tonight, the swash-unbuckling rogue

Many out there won’t warm to my charm
Not their cup of tea or simply they’ve no style
But you of good taste & renown class
Come share a spot with the one with the mischievous smile

Taking Time To Reside In Detail

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Taking time to reside in detail
Coaxing ghosts off the Sunshine Coast
A temper & a crooked smile
The truth when we needed it most

Knowing differences of our secrets
Diligent with passing the changes
I’m fluid in these manipulations
But for her I am, keeping me strange

Reading cracked-spine paperbacks
Wandering by; gently grabbing her waist
Creating space & sending archaic signals
Standing proud, knowing silence accustomed to taste

Finding Ourselves Locked In A Torrent

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

Finding ourselves locked in a torrent
Quietly dreaming of a harder way
Searching for the proper inspiration
Perhaps I’ll have something intelligent to say

I’m just a local loser with unlimited potential
Most will note my life has been an utter waste
Mocked & forgotten since you dismiss my face
In retrospect- you pine for my notion once you got a taste

I’m Not Saying I Don’t Appreciate

Photo by ALLAN FRANCA CARMO on Pexels.com

I’m not saying I don’t appreciate
A lady of Paris, Milan & back again
A smartly dressed woman of the Times
Inspiration for me to re-dip my pen

I’m not saying I don’t cherish
A bold woman who’s a little bossy
Nudity as art upon tasteful scales
Teasing me through 8 x 10 glossies

I’m merely submitting a formal request
Publicly provide the proper image of classy
Though once their prying eyes are shielded
I’m going to need you to be gratuitous & sassy

Sunshine Cresting From The Sea

Sunshine cresting from the sea
A soul to be filled with love’s perfection
A mere vessel to carry on this life
Beating in my heart’s reflection

Allow me to circumvent your plans
Wedging myself in your obvious way
Please look me gently in the eyes
This happiness; where forever stays

You’re more than you’ll ever know
Our tandem rhythmically in stride
Your taste is existence’s paragon
Evermore with me at your side

I Know You’re Checking Out Your Flaws

Photo by Tasha Kamrowski on Pexels.com

I know you’re checking out your flaws
Standing at the mirror, counting imperfections
Negative thoughts like these rather gnaw
So I’m offering up thorough inspections
It’s best to take it slow around curves
Haste would be such an utter waste
Wanting you to feel it in each of your nerves
This examination shall be conducted by touch & taste

Touched By The Whim Of God

Touched by the whim of God
Revolutions in the unlikeliest of places
Tasting the perfect tilt to her hips
My benign lunacy comes in traces

Diluted measurements by midmorning
With inconvenient virtues & unholy glee
Bringing small obsessions in my mind
When the local widows invite me for tea

Entering only after a courteous introduction
No need to intrude on our nebulous beliefs
A shared sacrilege when I watch her curtsey
Dropping to our knees; praying for some relief

I’d Trade All Those Gold Doubloons

Photo by Tatiana on Pexels.com

I’d trade all those gold doubloons
For another morning with you
Tasting your sweet nectar
Inspiring the day to be fresh & new
I don’t want fame nor glory
I just want to be naked under the covers
Satisfying & emotionally preparing you
Sending you out into the world; a happy lover

Ray Bradbury

toy-1771970_1920.jpg

 

“I have never listened to anyone who criticized my taste in space travel, sideshows or gorillas. When this occurs, I pack up my dinosaurs and leave the room.”
― Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing