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

Picking Up My Girl Along The Way

Picking up my woman along the way
A short enough skirt that’ll surely tease
Soft tones upon the extinguished day
Wine & song that I might forever please

Snapping fingers & popping buttons
Ample latitude that I might play her fool
Admittedly; for her touch I’m a glutton
My own words reveal me to still be uncool

My ravishing mettle giving her just cause
Subtly picking up her heels and hemline
This rakish spirit providing her pause
Exposing joy & unadulterated sunshine

It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn

It was a one-eyed kind of morn
With evening’s festivities going awry
I scrawled out all I could remember
Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy

Slight images of a lovely form
Olfactory sparks upon my brain
Sketching the party’s guest list
But no new faces could remain

Racking my skull for a proper memory
Writing down every & each detail
Compiling a list to rediscover
I’m trying to think, but it’s to no avail

A faceless gown with affectionate gloves
Somehow my mind is able to recall
Cognitive fragments begin to linger
Clouded out by last night’s alcohol

Scenes slowly begin to return
I believe we’re out on the dance floor
An embrace of smoldering desire
Yet I couldn’t figure out any more

Scraps of notes spread before me
No identity to place upon the truth
Scant reason to be shy in my search
Basking in honesty of my lapsed youth

Cobwebs have been sparsely lifted
Won’t think of her in the past tense
Her ghostly touch encourages me yet
We shall meet again, I firmly sense

To hold her with determined spirit
Seems fantastical at this sad rate
Yet she’s left fingerprints upon me
Remaining until I succumb to my fate

I’m The Footnote To Your Memory

Photo by Matthis on Pexels.com

I’m the footnote to your memory
Everyone will remember how you touched their soul
I’m just the quiet guy in the background
Working hard to help make your vision whole

I’m not the one to be seen nor heard
But to fade away when they extinguish the lights
Forgotten once the dream falls to recess
Sealed once we find our departing flights

I never wished to distract from you
I humbly serve your silent grace
No aim to conjure something more
Merely to bask in beautiful refraction of your face

I Want To Dance With You

Photo by Alyssa Swedick on Pexels.com

I want to dance with you
But I only have two left feet
I want to grasp you tightly
Hoping for our lips to meet

I wish to serenade you
But I cannot carry a tune
My words falter & flutter
With feeble hopes to croon

I’m not good enough
To fake or impress you much
But I’ll love you forever
With every word & every touch

Running My Fingers Upon The Smooth Surface

Running my fingers upon the smooth surface
Keeping them always against the grain
I know my way through the Redwoods
They’re my protection against the dark stains

Born in the high desert among the cacti
Faint echoes from mission bells of yore
Great things come from fools with faith
Misguided souls remain thirsty for more

Stubborn & obstinate as hardwood
Needing my love to keep from being truculent
Even though our touch doesn’t always soften conditions
Nevertheless, she is still my favorite succulent

My Fetish Is Powerful Women

Photo by Matheus Bertelli on Pexels.com

My fetish is powerful women
Standing proud in front of a crowd
Holding court with authenticity
Firmly entrenched without having to get loud

Mesmerized by the way she carries herself
Controlling me with a compassionate glance
She’s my incandescent muse
My reason for believing in happenstance

She’s regal without being out of touch
Properly expressing how it feels to be real
But I know she’s never going to give in
No matter our depravities, she will never kneel

Containing the ability to remain soft & lovely
While always making me hard
She can be inconvenient to worship
Not a plot point, won’t let you simply discard

Who am I to say no?
When she asks me to open up for the Queen
I’m the victim of my own volition
But I love it all, if you know what I mean

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

Red Lipstick & A Tight Ponytail

kiss-562556_1920.jpg

 

Red lipstick & a tight ponytail
The pretty piano player; a punk rockette
The domestic goddess with a need to be clean
Living on the edge of the cosmopolitain set

Hoarding her guilty pleasures fiercely
The moral ambiguity is a stubborn crutch
Ignoring nature’s perfectly placed laws
But she’ll only accept the light’s soft touch

Wearing an evening gown at her elegant leisure
Within her mind, no better way to take a selfie
She’s blunt with her standards & expectations
But lucky for us all, my poems are gluten free

 

Image by Kelsey Vere from Pixabay

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

Daylight Creaking Up Over The Atlantic

Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.com

Daylight creaking up over the Atlantic
First light’s rays struggling over the sea
My bones seem to have a bit of rust
Better lubricate with some more coffee

Dancing upon the shores of the St. John’s
We don’t need carpets; red or otherwise
We only need our bare skin to touch
Ending with me whispering between your thighs

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