Poetry: August 31, 2007

Kissers, in the form of night
Transfixed by their glow's delight,
Are now stretching into altered air
As the flicker of fire sparks, dance
Between the spaces where, he grapples
With her underwear, as senses grab
Their chance. Such moments, for men
Are not always sure, so we bait the lure,
And do not hesitate, to separate, the line
Betwixt, feral heat, and it's nemesis,
Romance.

 


..and being confused,
she simply made her
man, pay the dues
that would kill him,
after she doused
his fuse. He , poor 
sob, stood not even
a ghost's chance.
She would castigate
his manhood, and
sell him to the Jews.

 


Were spring a longer thing
more ding-a-lings might
ring-a-ling-a-ling and 
recognize a sense of
things as paramount 
to their own weight.
Birds fly headlong into
nests, while I, a whippoorwill,
stare from the couch at 
Pamela Anderson's breasts.

 


COPYRIGHT SANANDA MAITREYA
MILANO 31th AUGUST 2007
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