You may take offense,
were I to compare thee
to a common vetch,
but if you knew your history,
that Rome's legions were lentil fed,
I would be speaking in your defense,
my little Piscum.

Were I to kiss your hand,
and I long to,
would I see my reflection
in crescent moons,
or upon dangers red?

The all faith popes were flaming atheists,
all two thousand leagues of stacked sea,
sending out their ******* flotillas
on carillon arks stacked ten tiers deep with homing doves,
tithe teething continents of dithering dullards,
the poor mouthed succulent souls
that have so, so
over crowded a once peaceful heaven
to render this one blue ball a hell on earth.

Your forty winks
was an evening of my despair,
barely a word from you.
I'll send you tooth picks,
one for each eyelid,
only because I care ;-)

Hear the hounds
I among them,
hillock,
brook,
hedge.
You've out foxed us,
but I live in hope
to get you yet!

Your ******* were humming bird eggs,
vulnerable beyond compare.

Your lapped iPad is the perfect palimpsest,
for an intimate exchange,
with one of your stylist fingers
your lover's words become ostrich heads
whenever your husband
sallies forth for another can.