Hey Harvey Wallbanger
I’d like you to tie me to the bedpost, baby
And press your fuzzy navel to my slippery ******.
Give me your white angel kiss and I’ll lie down like a brown cow
While between the sheets you play the Italian stallion.

Like a kamikaze pilot head for my pink squirrel
Then give me your ol’ Alabama slammer
And pack a *** punch into that screwdriver of yours.
I want a screaming ******
That’ll send me to blue heaven. Wu Wu!

So, don’t mention that ****** Mary
With her devil’s kiss,
Or you’ll find I can give a snake bite that’s as deadly as a B-52.

Instead let’s ride into the tequila sunset in our golden Cadillac
For *** on the beach
And on the sea breeze we'll hear an old love song sung by a ‘salty dog’ with a Gibson
And watch a tropical storm over Manhattan
We'll go to Peppermint Patti’s café
And order an Irish coffee and a large slice of cherry pie.

Happy, after dark let’s drive home for a sloe comfortable ***** with satin pillows
And fall into the sweet surrender of a summer dream.

THESE legs have turned colours with the strength of the sun
Have climbed Mountains and off Cliffs
Wrapped - around squeezed the passionate ones
Previously folded up underneath These arm when the passion proved to be short-lived
Broken my fall when stairs have been absent
And continue to keep me alive with a left foot right foot motion.

it's morning, you know
we could
paint a still life with our impotent fingers
or cook eggs with every
spice in the drawer
we could
dig holes in the front yard,
bury treasures in front of
button-down commuters get
smashingly drunk forget
where we put them dig
them up and be convincingly surprised.

we could pretend our hands are
****** hands our
eyes new canvases and record
like **** Rembrandts
the embarassing details
we could make a creek of
pillows from one
side of the house to another
roll the entire length of it naked and
end up tangled in each other when they
run out

There is a whole day ahead of us, a whole world ahead of us -
a world of misery separated from us by
firecracker smoke, by cannonsmoke.

We have the house to ourselves
we could duct tape cardboard to the
exterior and pretend its one big
refrigerator box we could
jettison old ball mice and fat computer monitors
into the driveway *****
a campfire in the living room and
imagine that we have rebelled against something
fittingly awful, the modern world scowling at
our rusticity we could
make a tincan telephone that connects the entire
cul-de-sac and dress up smart and
sell it as charmingly as Ma Bell door-to-door

But our refined brains think two things:
*** again, handcuffed to maturity, or sleep.
What a world. What a longing.
What our age must suggest.
What an excuse: your starched reputation.
What courage could come from your bleached conscience.
How lovely to be trapped.

She struts into the room.
Sashaying.
A sensual movement of the hips...
Tight clothes, firm but rounded muscles
half-parted lips.
The confidence is like a perfume.
Her fragrance subtle, but backed with the power in her eyes.
She sits.
Strips out of her coat.
Corset with strings,
a tattoo of wings,
sweet little sparrow...
Are you an angel?

Smooth shoulders
as she exposes her neck
while the rest of the room
stares on perplexed
like stopping to see a wreck;
As she strokes her hair,
we silently stroke her ego.
She knows she is something to see
And when we finally remember to breathe
I'm left gasping for air
with a tightness between my legs
I hadn't realized was there.

And she smiles like she knows.
She does but
Then she turns away
Continues on her way
and I'm raking my nails
through my sheets
for days.

Fingers and toes curling
My fingers, your toes
Eyes and walls closing
Lips and lips watering
At the thought of a Lover’s kiss

I want to run my tongue
In delicate lines
Up and down your thighs
Smiling while You’re gasping
In my passing
Lips to the other side

There is an art to teasing
Having you twitching and wishing
I’d get to the pleasing, seeming
To pass closer and closer each time
Up and down your thighs

And while fingertips
Are a sorry substitute for Lover’s lips
It only takes the slightest brush
To have you quivering at my touch
And you cannot disguise
The passion building in your eyes
As I run my hands
Up and down your thighs

I’ll kiss your lips
No more stalling
As my kisses, slowly falling
And your heartbeat quickly rising
Fabric dropping, realizing
That finally this time
I’m not kissing towards your thighs.

How do you believe in a face not seen... or even one you have?
How do you long for the body that does not warm you?
The hand you have not held?
Or the lips yet not kissed...
How do you trust words spoken/typed?
Do you read them... or in between them?
Are they true?
Are they real?
Are they thinking the same as you are?
Some say there is a click...
Some say a connection...
Some a feeling...
Some even an energy...
Love is hard to explain.
It can happen in the strangest, most exciting and unexpected ways.
Do you believe...??
In Cyber Love... ??
07/30/09/ac

Here I sit, stale as a pile of ****.
Here I sit, wasting my wit... 
Nothing to inspire...
Nothing to remember...
No deep message to get.
Im jus' killin time...
Writin' lines that rhyme.
Freestylin' off the fingers as fast as I can think.
Flyin' off the handle...
Im ele-mental...call me Zinc.
Secure in my manly dreams, not afraid to wear pink.
I'm a fan of good things, I speak them in tongue and write them in ink.
Im fed up with frauds and emo kids that think they're rock stars...
And smokers inhaling tar sticks...
In their smokey bars...that smell like ****.
I dont get it.
A couple things I'll never miss.
But here I sit, wasting my wit.
These are just a few frustrations I'd like to forget.