August 8, 2004

  • This is a ‘proof-of-concept’ poem to support my claim to spontaneity.  No preconceptions, just wordflow, unreworked, two minutes (sips of coffee between lines).


    Not autobiographical, probably not revealing of any inner libidinal urges, more nearly just a mind-tap into some darkly erotic scenario being played out somewhere in the world. ‘Fess up—I’ve hacked into your fetishistic stream, haven’t I?


     


    how pretty-undies your favorite pose,


    how unerotically I’m swayed


    laying dormant in the tub


    as filthy-drunk as any knave.


     


    but, oh, your tantalizing toes


    will do it every time:


    up, dripping, naked, and on the floor


    sucking sweetly upon thine.

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