Weather Report
Rain soaked lawn
Bloated earth
Sputtering puddles
Like afterbirth
At the Cemetery
Yellow gold red brown
Fallen leaves adorn the ground
One three seven ten
Counting gravestones never ends
An Old Man
An old man
Is a young man
Whose skin doesn't fit
An old man
Is a young man
Who talks to himself
An old man
Is a young man
Who takes naps
An old man
Is a young man
Whose eyes get sore
An old man
Is a young man
Whose smiles are sad
An old man
Is a young man
Whose old man
Was right
Her Body
When she stretches on the bed,
I can’t look elsewhere instead.
The subtle turning of her lip
Suggests the curve below her hip.
No vocabulary tells
The special way her bosom swells.
All the length of limb and leg
Seem designed to make me beg.
In her navel’s hollow lies
A secret far beyond the skies,
And what her mons veneris spells
Has mystery in decibels.
Oh, I could go on and on—
But there she lies, and now she yawns…
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