February 2007

Extra Value

A bomb doesn’t hit like you did,
Walking in the door, my eyes reeling,
Skirt hovering around toned,
Athletic thighs, curvaceous, and
Perky in all the right places, and so
I stuttered a hello, awkward like
I always am, “Hello, can I take
Your order please?” You
Were so kind to me, when others
Have chosen to pick fun, and then
When I handed you the up-sized
Diet cola you ordered, our fingers
They touched, That’s when
My heart went Boom-boom,
Boom-boom so very quickly;
I turned my face as it flushed, not only
So you wouldn’t see, but so I could plan
My next move, which involved your
Burger, a big smile, and a dollop
Of my pants-stored special sauce.

Something Ventured

My day at work was a pain, so while
Waiting for the bus I called you,
Expecting your voice mail instead,
I got you, mellifluous words streaming
Beautiful affection in my ear piece-clad
Ear, the sky misted down on me and I
Plucked my jacket collar up, like a
Teen heartthrob from the 80s I don’t
At all resemble, but you love me anyway,
And tell me so, on and on, you tell me
The things I’m supposed to remember,
What I told you I had to do, and stuff
You need me to do to make your life
Easier, groceries to get, and stationary,
And then, still on the phone, you said,
“It burns when I go to the bathroom,”
And I was zoning out, I guess, because
I thought you were curling your hair,
Or something, but now, I’m discovering
How much it burns when I pee … what
The shit, Debbie? I fucking trusted you.

Haiku for Boo

I’m a pretty babe,
Swaddled against your bosom
I feel quite virile.

Haiku ala Poo

Followed to the can,
I can clean myself, you know;
You’re sweet to wipe me.

Haiku for you

Bloody, bruised, and panicked:
I would have let you bone me,
Now I’m not so sure.

Haiku y tu?

Really quite sleepy,
Exhaust pipe taped to a hose,
Filling your rectum.

Haiku Fish Soup

First, sauté onions,
Chop garlic, sprouts, and bok choy
Add stock, fish, then simmer.

Haiku You

Stretching and straining,
Yogic meditation helps,
I taste like sauerkraut.

And you never complain

There’s a goddess before me,
I don’t know her name, but
Her eyes are like wishing wells,
Her hair is like flame, her fingers
Are elegant, and her jaw line:
Refined, her cheeks? They are
Dimpled, and so’s her behind,
I think on her fondly, as I go
Through my day, the curve of
Her shoulders to the sway
Of her hips, the firmness of her
Thighs and the press of her lips,
And when I come home, and
Disrobe … we can play, I’ll
Dress you in the outfits you wore
In that store window, that place
That I freed you from, “You don’t
Have to worry, they’ll never
Find you,” I mutter, as I put my mouth
On you, and taste the accumulated
Flavor of our three weeks together.

Boredom and Inspiration

We do so much together, I’m sometimes
Lost for things to do, when you’re out
Of town, or with your friends, or anyplace
I’m not, I think there’s bills to pay, but
Games I’ll play, involving dexterity and
Whatnot, I wish I had friends, like you
Have friends, but your friends aren’t
My friends, they could have been, and
Should have liked me, but I’m not
Well-versed in social situations, my tongue
gets tied, and my palms grow moist, and
I flush, and stutter slightly, I miss the
Face your friends are seeing, your pretty
Eyes, and pouty lips, and smile they’re
All graced with, I wander my house,
Lonely and jealous, not really jealous,
Just bored, so I sit, and I think, and there’s
Something I could do, I wonder and think,
I plan, and I plot, and I’m putting myself
In position, I breathe deeply, and concentrate,
And envision your face, and I wish
You were here, so you’d cheer my success,
I imagine you, over there, while beaming
With pride, you’d look over at me, smiling
And say, “Darling, it’s amazing, you lying there,
How much urine you can catch in your mouth”.

What I’m most proud of

The sun has been shining, the morning
Birds sing, I’ve been dreaming of
Eating: steaks, and bacon, and figs,
Then slowly, there’s something, that
Intrudes on my slumber, visions of
Living, like two peas in a pod,
It’s summertime in my heart,
I can tell, ‘cause I’m sweating,
My hands are quite clammy, and baby,
You’re wet and I’m getting there,
Cycling up, how crazy you make me,
It’s Six in the morning, and oh,
How you wake me, your tongue
At my nipple and your nose in my ear,
Your hand at my ankle, and your eyes
Twixt my legs, endlessly staring
At my wrinkly, prickly, hair-covered eggs.

Needless to say, against my will.

A road trip, is a road trip, is two people at least,
Taking the time to travel by byway, down
Country road and highway, seeing sights and
What they please, while talking, and singing,
Telling stories, and bringing small gifts for
Each other: treats, really, from rest stop, and
Gas station, and back woods fast food joints,
We read Madlibs, after writing them, and bought
A Thin Lizzy cassette and sang along, while we
Crossed the Rockies and dreamed of the Ozarks,
Switchback after switchback, among dangerous
Drops and mean-looking shards of stone and
Spires of rock, and then, when the time is right,
Stop to stretch, and pee, and sometimes (more often
Than never), wander around a tourist attraction
That seems more out of place in real life, than
It would in a daily comic strip from a big city
Newspaper; I loved our time together, I did,
And I wish that trip had never ended, but all
Things end, like us, and we, and other words
That stand for you and me together in a car,
I didn’t think you’d bleed so much that evening,
And when you said your nipples could cut glass,
I thought, whatever, that’s kind of kinky, but
I didn’t expect to spend the night getting brutally
Sodomized in a holding cell, just East of Des Moines.

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