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

Let Me Borrow A Glass Of Your Mom’s Wine

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Let me borrow a glass of your mom’s wine
I get thirsty in these evening hours
Noticing silhouettes moving in the kitchen
Before too long I might need a quick shower

This humidity is slowly trying to roast me
I’m soaking wet & need fresh shirtsleeves
Her beauty wouldn’t exist without God’s consent
I’m merely appreciating that in which I believe

Cavernous Depression Falling Down Without Truth

Cavernous depression falling down without truth
Wet streets refracting the bitter twilight of the moon
Trenches & overcoats pulled tight to repel the world
A need for answers that cannot wait past this noon

Try to place everything perfectly into its correct box
Finding out the little control we have while we’re here
Knowing the results we wish to see once the sun rises
No need to stay dry when you’re drowning in this fear

Awake Early In The Naked, Teal Morning

Awake early in the naked, teal morning
Still wet from dancing in the rain
My subconscious kissing her femininity
But the memories remain love-stained

Her fingers gripping my shoulders
Our souls constantly trying to absorb
Soft, low moans quietly evident
I’m enchanted by her fleshy orbs

We’re exposed in the light of dawn
A realness that won’t be concealed
We have a glow of our own
No words exist, but a truth she can feel

A Crooked Tiara

Photo by Agung Prakoso BayuAdi on Pexels.com

A crooked tiara
Perched over tear stains
Smudged makeup drying
Only the pain now remains
But the sunshine emerges
Hope rises after the ashes
Don’t give up on me, for I’m
Here to kiss wet eyelashes

You Don’t See It

Photo by Athena on Pexels.com

You don’t see it
The boys not getting enough sleep
Those who have abandoned their homes
Keeping watch over the watery deep

You don’t see it
Those who dream of something better
Youth sacrificing blindly
Riding the tide, salt spray getting wetter

You don’t see it
Loading sea bags in early morning hours
Walking the gangplank in the face of fear
Trusting their lives to a Greater Power

I Poured You Copious Amounts Of Wine

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

I poured you copious amounts of wine
Frank was singing ‘The Lady Is A Tramp’
We danced until you went home on the train
Your dreams ended up being quite damp