He said...
he had this fantasy that just had to be fulfilled...
It was urgent...
(and with good reason; though, he didn't yet know it).
He said...
he wanted to... had to... make love to a 'poet'.
He said...
he wanted to... nibble on her lines,
lick, suck, and hit her rhymes,
and bring her to the ends of her stanzas,
at least four...
...or five...
...or six...
times,
in high anthological volumes
as repetitious as mid winter wind chimes;
assuring satisfaction before...
...during...
...and after...
each of his satisfactorily performed (pant)omimes.
So -not that I'm a poet, or anything-
I stepped up to the plate and let him
'practice' -if I can call it that- on me.
Sort of like a real life 'crash test dummy'
(well... that's what friends are for).
And, just for technique's sake,
we taped ourselves...
copulatorily cooperating,
with one another's bodies
and be(cum)ing one six -count 'em- six
times in a row, in little rubber cuplets.
And, not that I was enjoying it or anything
but, my (orgas)mother's -almost never wrong- intuition
had hardly predicted 'sex'tuplets... whew!
Then suddenly, in the aftermath
of his 'poetry in motion'
a, most, satisfied me was struck, heavily,
with the notion that this man had poetry
seeping through his pores and...
he could have made love...
to himself...
he had this fantasy that just had to be fulfilled...
It was urgent...
(and with good reason; though, he didn't yet know it).
He said...
he wanted to... had to... make love to a 'poet'.
He said...
he wanted to... nibble on her lines,
lick, suck, and hit her rhymes,
and bring her to the ends of her stanzas,
at least four...
...or five...
...or six...
times,
in high anthological volumes
as repetitious as mid winter wind chimes;
assuring satisfaction before...
...during...
...and after...
each of his satisfactorily performed (pant)omimes.
So -not that I'm a poet, or anything-
I stepped up to the plate and let him
'practice' -if I can call it that- on me.
Sort of like a real life 'crash test dummy'
(well... that's what friends are for).
And, just for technique's sake,
we taped ourselves...
copulatorily cooperating,
with one another's bodies
and be(cum)ing one six -count 'em- six
times in a row, in little rubber cuplets.
And, not that I was enjoying it or anything
but, my (orgas)mother's -almost never wrong- intuition
had hardly predicted 'sex'tuplets... whew!
Then suddenly, in the aftermath
of his 'poetry in motion'
a, most, satisfied me was struck, heavily,
with the notion that this man had poetry
seeping through his pores and...
he could have made love...
to himself...