By Request…

A few people have asked for the words to the poem I read in the audio section of this website and sooo, here it is….

Can you imagine if we were together; would we ever sleep?
A deep sleep, with dreams to keep, ah shite, REM, light
dozin’ for those insomniacs, like us, enjoying the buzz, tasting
the fuzz of life, the wife, the strife, too much as such.
My days and nights are haunted by your diction, I hope not
fiction. Lest I trot down the memory lane of pain
with nothing to gain, you feel me? Feel me again.

Before I met you, I kept my eye glued on the clock,
hand on the glock, ready to shoot the grandfather
should he tick-tock to a stop. Two hours left in the day,
no time to play, sleep on the way. Then you came,
the tiger of time was tamed, by the palpitations
amongst the accusations of expectation;
Chest tightening. I didn’t sign up for this.

Fuck me it’s cold, that’s why I’m so bold, to take out and wear
my tammy. Ain’t it jammy? How did I find her, find here,
chase around the sphere of love, too much shoved down her throat,
stranded on the boat, sinking ship, can we still float?
Let’s stop talking, do some walking, your place or mine?
A glass of fine wine, like a swine, hand on the breast, you know the rest,
use your imagination, this needs no explanation.
But if you insist, I’m fine to list.

A night of big Os, with the tongue a-flow, lapping up the milk,
skin like silk, wet like butter, ‘taste me again’ you mutter,
heart flutters, ready to spasm, orgasm, happy days
melt away in my mouth, deep down in your south. This is no greed,
simply a need; you show your appreciation, time for celebration,
with the cork, ready to pop, can’t stop, explosion, wet sticky devotion,
in your face, that’s the place, a loving mace.

A simple cheerio will not do, time to tattoo, trademark you,
on my leg or on my back, will this hurt? Below or above your skirt,
you wonder where to place me, an ink me for all to see? Maybe.
The needle ends, time to send you back home, work on your tome
write a poem, about me and the intensity of my propensity
for romantic immensity. What a ride, but that aside,
to concur, looking back, it’s all a blur.

Website updated 21 February 2011