Poetry is about sexual desire—
why it’s so messy.
Always trying to light the fire.
Something lovely to admire—
but please, not too confess-y!
Poetry is about sexual desire,
you bet your bootsies—whatever may transpire
on your back porch—you’d be remiss if
you ever stopped trying to light the fire.
I tried to travel o’er
the Rocky Mountains but my tires were leaky.
My sexual desire
never stopped treading the miry
road, at least, but the question’s tricky
whether I ever found a match to light the fire.
my resting BPM is up and I spew freaky
phantasmagoria all over the place, always feeding the fire
of unashamed desire.
