Perhaps I’m A Bit More Prudish

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Perhaps I’m a bit more prudish

Than I ever expected myself to be

Shying away from their exhibitions

Folding my soul back into propriety

Maybe I’m not as cool as you thought

I’m more of a meandering old fellow

Writing out lines of cautious fantasy

Whereas reality reveals itself to be rather mellow

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Southern California Made Us Promises

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Southern California made us promises
That no one could possibly make
The beach & the beauty
All revealed to be restlessly fake
But I know of a callow truth
Of heritage & the shore of Bodega Bay
Of family & the love we can’t forget
Perhaps I’ll make it back some sunny day

Hanging With Beach Bums & Bashful Babes

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Hanging with beach bums & bashful babes

Swimming in the surf on late Spring days

Colorful flavors poured gently over ice

Skin glowing after hours in the pleasant rays

I thought I saw a Sea Hag along the sand

Though she revealed herself to be a Siren

Coaxing & teasing me with her demure allure

Whispering that I might be a modern Lord Byron

Uncomfortable with compliments of any sort

I quietly pull out my pen to jot down an ode

Her eyes grow wide, then a smirk & a wink

Simultaneously my mind, heart & loins explode

 

Pirate Prep

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Pirate Prep

Slow reveal behind the mask

But there’s no dick pics

No matter how politely you ask

I’m gonna keep something for me

Reality to keep up with illusion

You’re drooling over my secrets

Obviously tainted by your delusion

*Yes, I keep using this pic, but only because it is one of my favorites

** No, I’m not usually this vain

The Truth About Women’s Feet

  

Love wrapped around my mind like a shroud

Full of colors, spectrums & radiant splashes

Not a day without engulfing sunshine

Blinded by pantyhose & false eyelashes

I believed in the fairytale courtships

Sipping champagne from glass slippers

Lovely damsels in need of gentlemen

Revealed to be crude strumpet strippers

My soul could not take this detail

Where was my love with elegant class

Distraught in this new reality

Stuck on feet made for crystal glass

How could my dreams unravel so

This giving me pause to think

Now I understand the truth

That women’s feet actually stink

You’re Cold, Calculated & Good-Looking

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You’re cold, calculated & good-looking

Left behind your classmates long ago

Wandering the bottom of telegraph hill

Boys of the varsity crew dutifully row

Looking down through expensive lenses

Never stooping below your vertical reach

Self-confidence not what you reveal

Truth of the matter, aren’t you a peach

Through all these delicate years

I’m still here, feeling sorry for you

Hiding in this city is not an escape

An anonymous life not so fresh & new

Skirting this issue you may complete

Being breezy like a windless chime

Slipping just between your fingers

This just must not be the time