Poems From The Pirate In My Soul
Summer comes crashing down upon us
The cliches of sunshine cannot be overstated
We grow warmer & friendlier in the heat
The smiles & the bright sky are interrelated
We’ve been bundled up for far too long
Fleeing society for the beaches to lessen stress
Stripping yourself of these daily burdens
Smelling of sweat & suntan lotion as we undress
I eat her peach, like it was a screaming bed
Rob lathered her pink butt, like I said
She urges me to lick the bare breasts, or no head
They want the mist under the dress, and she is red
I cry, but think those rose petals are like a knife
My woman moans as we fall with spring through life
Smell sweet honey like a purple forest o’ eggs
He sees my finger smear next to the smooth hot leg
Watching two girls waxin’ & milkin’ without you
The gorgeous goddess needs his languid tongue to be true
Deliriously drunk & a repulsive moment recalls an ugly day
I felt the beauty whispering lust, wanting to play
Sweat leaves my apparatus juicy and shiny, always beating it away
Frantic spray floods the luscious garden from behind
Trying to swim beneath a language o’ an elaborate mind
Winter crushes drool over lovely eyes
On top, producing no sleep as we lie
Together, eternity is an essential chain
Manipulating me through bitter rain
Mothers can ask to stop, but still get to blow
I pound your fluff and then must go
Getting shot in some hair is easy when you are not above
Shadows o’ their enormous size is what you vision and love
Circa 1998
*Author’s Note: I feel I should explain this mess. It was written in college on a buddy’s fridge with the non-x-rated magnetic poetry. It is horribly juvenile and I love it all the more for that reason.
Stalking campus coffee shops
Finding those of intellectual pursuits
The good smells of stimulation
& these lonely ladies in pantsuits
But I’ll settle in beside them
Thinking of proper words to recite
Turning mistrust into lust
Dangling soft words for them to bite
Waking up, smelling of love
Sore & stiff from our imaginations
A late night of enlightened feelings
Letting moans be our primal narration
Accompanied by jazzy tones & chilled wine
Perfect decorations for our eternal passions
By any mean necessary to ensure
That our mutual desire never goes our of fashion
Words keep me buoyed
Sanity sifted, then promptly returned
Thought processes turned on end
Satisfaction smells like salty sunburns
But we were born out of time
Scribbles & poems don’t mean anything anymore
But to a few hidden scoundrels
The fringe of society behind unmarked doors
my shadow screams like a thousand suns
a gorgeous woman leaves but asks why
the power is from the sea of black lights
some will have to vision my delicate sky
thinking manipulated the eternity of dreams
i am drunk, recalling moments, driving me to cry
death is an essential smell, pounding music watches
storms trudge on through, but i must try
water sweats as he falls in love with her
the mist under a pink rose petal shines like spring
ugly lust floods and i cannot swim
the smooth gown worships bare skin, as she sings
“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
― Margaret Atwood, Bluebeard’s Egg
