“Oh spare me your masculine babble
Or I shall abuse!” giggled my precious
Precious mistress of the obscure…
One quaint wiggle of the hips and I’m there
Hand and knees gracing the cold ground
While I bow my head in pseudo-worship
Mock agony for my queen of sadistic beliefs
Dominance and dancing with the devil’s own
Seductive fingernail
Has taught me several things that hold
Keep and adore consequences far worse than
Swallowing 50 plus paracetamol in false suicide
Or invoking the wrath of an angry
Bitter God
“Open your eyes, my love” she screams
Digging her claws into any open wound I have
To prove her point more than once that
There is more to life and love than smoke and mirrors
Abracadabra and hocus-pocus…
Things far worse to fear than rabbit-filled hats and licking
The thighs of death….
Such as dreams…
Lilliputian ones of lust and reciprocated affection
That involve more foreplay and less pain
More structure and absence of the obscene…
Oh yes, the heart does yearn for things it has never felt
(One minute of semi-healthy love)
But on the flipside of this tainted token
I do know (and enjoy rather)
All the 256 plus ways one can use a lovely
Lovely golden potato… |
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