He bluntly crucified my friend
I’ve known liars, I‘ve known thieves
I’ve seen crooked lawyers in action
I was shocked by the jurors reaction
  I have study the body languages of the fibbers
Read between the lines of the tell-tales

But to concocted a preposterous but believable story
Just to feed it to the judge: That is so cold, yet so bold
I always believe in the old saying,
Only fools represent themselves in the courts of law
My heart bleeds for my dearest friend
His soul have grown weaker than elastic knicker

Akiane Kramarik  said
"No matter what happens around us, or to us, through love,
our soul reaches immortality, conquering all dimensions and all destinies

He had bathed in the forbidden sea, where the mermaid had warn him
Not to entered:, Where the daughters of Lucifer lured  kindhearted men from good homes

He builds their house near the sand, and it slowly sank
He looks out to the Atlantic Ocean,
for guidance and saw the raging waves

Then he remembers nights of unsettling dream:
He have known liars, he have known pain,
Somehow, it was hard for him to stay afloat in
the murky water  I’ve known liars

  I have listened to both sides:
but earlier this week the judge was so quick to chooses sides
Is this the end for my friend?

His :

i make my travel
reseeding you
                my dear heart
                      into a compact unit of storage

i relieve from our nesting comfort
dismiss our established downey base of cooperation
                                   cleave from our snared compromise

instead to bed and thieve an unshared atmosphere
guilty joy followed by joyful normality
no stale thing

unravelling light
  lifted
(secure
  that I've a capsule world
  when i turn
  toward our lap again)

goodbye of you i am mended
made completely free
                    on the first turn of a corner


& Hers :

you leave me
      on your travels (you-were-my-travels)
you leave me susceptible
my heart alters to become
       a weak permeable tissue of easy tamper
       membership structure is dissolved
         returned to the vital spill
           welcome fluent contamination
               villainess and godless vibration
                  of the goddess confession

dress hooked up past my waist
i'll power-**** away my morality on day one
each day following shall be made easy
  ushered along in brutalities slip steam
                        and the prom of eddies

back in time i've been working on something..
       i'll call it The ****** List
criminal joys and tasks of double self daring
committed
     (not folded over
       or veloped in the knicker drawer)
           it operates as a basking lurk
                               tucked discreetly
                                 correct behind the eye
                      a charm feature of the unconscious
when released
   it's something melkish and larking with energy
   tacking harm to my activated mischief
      kinetic value and uncontrollable spur

in your absence
     i am permissionless
abyssless
i account for nothing

nooks of the apartment
the memory of us quickly forms a ***** coral
i've stopped washing to suit this mode
my body, a journal of stains and earned bruises
i holla and bay at mementoes of our brace
and then stop at the near point of the neighbours tolerance

time has crushed in on its own thesis
become gummy and tenseless
skipping about in haphazard spasms
  backstep, bow and reversal
     now
          observably organic in motion
           and proud of its many personalities

Oh, You're Back Again !
    no, it is your ghost
is it a spy ? ... i doubt you knew you even had it
it threads in and out of my company
seeming baffled and far from its comfort zone
did i put you there ?
i don't call you
the physical you
because you said 'no phones'
              and 'only in emergencies' (is-this-urgent ?)
Is This Urgent ?!
i restrict where i live in here
     keep the windows widowed and veiled
it makes for an unreal canvas
i'm weeding for a correction
sensual precarious highs
violate
in a spate
with this time alone
i'll make our home a vile space
a defication
and i can make no sense assessment of it any
i fight against digestion within these premises
i stay still long enough i am softened and palped
            by a dense atmosphere and salivations of contact
and outside..

the streets are exhausted
and i've quite the nasty reputation
violence, baiting and thievery
inebriation and toxic language
i shall soon be policed
no doubt i've lost my job
for now our place is a dare for vandals
             when i am an insensible heap
                 and perspiring over you in delirium
                    they devalue the exterior

unearthing
i'll find my creative sprite
that is good
i had missed it
now this is urgent (this-is-mine-was-always)
i take up a notebook and puke it full
i take sticks in my mitt and scrawl my charcoal visions
the blood visions
   the primal mud
  on all our walls

can i piece back our home by your return ?
can I sufficiently correct the blurring history I've smutted ?
do i care to ?
no more fading into 'partner'
lease is up
you'll not find me here destroyed
or waiting
    naked but an apron with my hands cupped and mouth open
i'll have ravelled myself up tight
- having stoked my inhuman malady -
     i'll mate my own travels

                                                        ­             - aborted

Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

The wind cross the hilltops,
The water below,
The cattle out grazing,
Hawk and eagle stand watch,
Fences and dirt roads,
Pastures and fields,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

Rainstorms and snowstorms,
Thunder and hail,
Content beneath covers,
Warm arms to hold,
Comfort me, cuddle me,
I'll be by your side,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

There's peace in the stillness,
There's warmth all alone,
Just two souls and hillsides,
We're never alone,
Isolation is a comfort,
Out out of reach,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

The barking of ranch dogs,
The mooing of cows,
The horses they knicker,
I sigh like the wind,
The bird songs and crickets,
The sounds of out here,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

~A Ranch Wife I'd Be by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014

You enter my threshold,
We conversate,
A moment of connection, a moment of the yesterday days,
The moment passes as you pull your gaze away from mine.

We ****,
Not make love, not having ***,
Simply **** !

All I wanted was intimacy,
To be held and loved,

All I got was detachment
Aloof and distance

Disappointment clinging to the straps of my bra as I pull them on
Shame stained on my knicker as they slide back up

Heavy is my heart
Desperate is my soul
Deflated is my spirit

You leave, and take a part of me once more

Oh to lay between your legs
smelling your hot womanhood

You lay there like a kitten
my cream now yours

Look at my love trickle as you stand
this is my love for you
white on tanned thighs
knicker changing time

Come back to bed
the wine has gone to my head
let me lay in your warmth
between your ***** perfumed pillars

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

What I would not do With a 30 stone fat lass
She'd have big bouncing **** and a ******* ******* ***
Sniffing round her *** crack and her flabby knicker stash
Lapping at her bucket **** her hot wet sweaty ****
******* up her *******, two in her creamy mash
If your not sure where that is, its where she takes a slash

When I pull her knickers off like tents without the poles
then I will have access to her ***** ******* holes
and when I'm up inside her Between those fatty rolls
I'd release those mammoth mounds out of their Playtex Bowls

When it comes to fatty ***** your in for a BIG surprise
There's plenty to grab onto when you squeeze those hippo thighs
It is so delightful you just won't believe your eye's
Cos when you **** a fat girl there's more room for compromise

And While I'm riding on the waves of her belly ripples
Her fleshy thighs around me, surrounding fat that triples
She'd wrap me in her tree trunk legs while I **** her strawberry *******
And she can have a go on top of me even if it cripples

Once her juice is flowing Her **** I'd like to pound
But I would do it ******* just like a rampant hound
Her ***** slapping together her stomach resting on the ground.
And I'd enjoy squeezing her fat bits while ******* that huge mound

I suppose It would be like bonking a king size waterbed
when I finished up her **** I'll **** her **** instead
After I have spunked up and my pencils out of led
I'll stick my fish stained rod in her mouth and she can **** my fishy head

It doesn't matter how fat she is it really isn't valid
Or if she isn't all that healthy, pale faced and a bit pallid
it's probably due to fatty foods and not much in the way of a salad
But after all so ****** what this is a fat woman's ballad

Just because she may not be thin and you may laugh and smirk
Your obviously a closed minded pre- programed Pox doctors clerk
Because I'd rather **** a fat girl than have a **** or ****
So what's the difference how big you are as long as your rude bits work

So if your big and fat, obese or overweight
Let us get together I'm sure it will be great
If you want *** give me a call and we can make a date
come on get your knickers off no matter if its late

And when your sat there naked with your **** upon my middle digit
Knelt in the floor beside you ready with my ridged widget
I hope your not uncomfortable and you don't begin to fidget
Well never mind, its okay I can always **** a **** little ******

i generally feel constipated... that's probably
the best word to use... constipated...
   i was sitting in Warsaw's modlin
airport, and it felt, very much like
a scene from james tissot's painting:
  the ruins (inner voices).
i just kept admiring this guys
     beard,
  in western lingo he'd be classified
as hipter...
             **** me! so much ***** hair!
resurgence of my beard-envy...
  my my, if i only donned such a bush,
i'd be the first one on the dancefloor
peacocking a ******* of sweat and leather
grit...
    alas! not to be.
       a thought concerning a cottage
and a return to the countryside did shine
for a bit... how i remembered having
a russian girlfriend and how i couldn't
see a larionov, or a tatlin, or a goncharova...
  or a mashkov...
           a kuprin... a konchalovsky...
    shukhatev ****** grigoriev...
i also call that: predating the selfie,
  via ilya repin...
           see?! constipation...
      i'm literally bound to heave this tomb of
past lives, expected to recount some chess-prodigy
or some other, chess-komtur.
                     for the help of god i can't ease out
a **** into the toilet that's supposed to be
human history, for the love or antagonism of:
the abstract deity...
     back when it meant concrete things:
hades the shadow-******, zeus the lightning bolt
  and incarnate libido-starved swan,
poseidon and juiced up knicker-oysters
    of a woman's genitals... so they came:
with their floral pattern analogies!
                        my, and what a worldly invitation
that came to be... niqab bound, or by western standard:
  a little more than the pauper's veil...
     enough dough to cage the poor women
and keep them motivated to live, that dull
         caricature everyone else knows to be life...
    i should have stood up and gave my
investment into jealousy, right there and then...
it's unfair that you have more ***** hairs
on your neck, cheeks and chin than i!
             oi! give me the same fertility gimmick!
that's me, and there's people doing cossack
adventures into outer-space...
                       it's like i want to laugh...
but i can't, because i'm suffocating on paper mâché...
yes, i feel constipated,
     if i'm to be called a civilised person,
and not a barbarian...
     i somehow, have to, ingest,
this backlog of human art,
     i have to know certain names
i might recall for a baby-shower congregation...
   and aphrodite gave us aphorisms...
               ****'s sake: anecdotes!
  that's me being a civilised creature...
  but still that ****** constipation...
   there's never enough: because there's too much of it!
and if you cite this painter, outside of Poland:
  matejko...
                                 you'll probably have
a saint's'-feast day named after you...
i really feel bloated...
           i have too much human history to account for,
it's always a case of juggling some grieving
priority...
      as is the loss of experiencing the everyday
pH 7 body temp. 36.6°C...
             i am literally forced into taking up
the role of censor...
     to look cool and not admire the statue of david,
or make a pilgrimage to the Louvre to see Mona Lisa...
a peacock's tail on a flamingo strutting toward
a ****** drama of *******...
               once more, this constipation,
  and this fake, as if: i'm supposed to be thankful for
the ****** inheritance... i ain't!
     take those masterpieces to the grave,
                 while i try to re-apply myself to
creating a thing of beauty from playdough...
                most people never get the idea
of rust, let alone dust...
          thankfully the two words rhyme,
and thus the easier singalong congregation:
   of the ores... sunset hue man,
              extracted brown and burgundy from
polished grey metal...
                and himself laid rest:
              among the sneezing myopic worms
to never be clarified by moth or butter-winged;
so persistent is this cultural constipation
               that it's hard making a footprint
on uncharted land, worth the cool...
           and of those places where culture stomped
as a fascist brute...
                                so much for culture,
that there's this backlog of people expressing
culture, with so many people willing to forget it...
     without a genetic preordinance:
try telling your mechanic father, or plumber
that you're an artist...
                ah **** it... let's end this poem like
a scene from a gang-****...
                               ugly... ugly...
egalitarian... but nonetheless ugly....
                                    i have a museum's worth of
****... and that really is: the prognosis
                              for the next 100 years,
or what's called: undistrubed peace,
   or a piecing together of organising the next
propaganda umbrella, worthy of the noun: zeitgeist.

Paper,cards and yards and yards of plastic,knicker elastic and all put there,out of the way,just waiting for the day when they'd be looked for
in the cupboard,inside the drawer,second one up from the floor,at the back with the blu tack and a collar for the cat
it's where we keep the odds and sods and bits and bobs and things we think we'll never need until we need them
and we're led,sometimes by our nose to where these items, lay in repose and heaven knows there's enough stuff here.
I see that as I peer in,to the drawer,second up from the floor and find the thing I'm looking for.

Great
but wait
there's something more
I'll put it in the second drawer
in case I'm looking for it
sometime.

Oh for reckless dreams of walking back to childhood.
Much too late, but much too soon.
Of walking over sandy shores.
Hand in hand with the love of one's life.
Once upon a life time ago, was  someone's pretty little wife.
Too soon became trouble and strife.
Time went and caught her up.
Not quite enough to be ready to die.
The ****** get wet  and the passion has passed.
Knicker elastic crawls over her waist.
Thrillers becoming passion killers.
And still we giggle like teenagers, a little less wriggling about.
Her tights dangle down as if there's no tomorrow.
Ageing bought nothing but truth and sorrow.
But it's not  going to  get me
I just won't let it.
Even tho' this stubborn old goat is a nanny.
(c ) Livvi

Mondays are hard.

My manager and me, we have similar lives, similar set-ups.

Sometimes weekends are harder.

We come in early Mondays,
Meeting in Progress on the door, and
we get it all off our chests.

Missed doses, mood swings.
How best to mix Prednisolone with antidepressants, you know?
To avoid side-effects.

Discuss the difference between a stern-and-loud and a shouted-at,
a shoved and a brushed-past, and if you don’t land, does it matter?
That kind of thing.

Some time last year, in one of these meetings we realised
the ****** drawer was the first victim.

All that time we thought we wore pretty knickers for us, but no.
No, no, no ‘cause why the hell would we wear them to work?
Why? Who for?

To the back of the drawer they went.

We’ve reclaimed them now, our secret code.

If she’s looking sad, or I am - there’s a small cry of show us your knickers
and we do, a little flash over the waistband.

(Still not brave enough to wear them if we’re staying on for a meeting, but it’s a good start)

The worse the weekend, the sexier the knickers. It’s communication and
proportionate revenge all in one.

(You wouldn’t want to be around us on a lacy-red-thong kinda day)

God only knows what our colleagues make of it:
A quick knicker-flash then off to the office.

But to be honest, we don't care.

Oh Annette Tidy, what have you been up to now
Writings on the bus stop, says you've been a filthy cow
I know it's only hearsay, by the use of your meow
***** ****'s been ****** again, I wish that I knew how

A simple stroll on down the street, the shelter comes in sight
Once a **** always a ****, it seems your ****'s not tight
Poor old Den is not the one, who's getting ****** tonight
An ugly **** you maybe, that's if the text is right

Oh Annette Tidy, are you such an ugly ****
Are you fat and overweight, moist folds that crease and sag
****** ability you seem to have, to make men's *****'s wag
Maybe you are not that bad, when you always get a ****

*** has been displayed, on top of the phone box
That's only if you've been shagged, by some unsavoury *****
I can not really comment, if you've had a guy with pox
A lovely feeling had by all, when getting off your rocks

Oh Annette Tidy, you have been with a new man
You've cheated on Dennis again, just like an old **** can
It could be propaganda, or part of a malicious plan
Slaggy ***** get all the press, and I'm their biggest fan

You'll never change the word is out, for everyone to see
I am not so positive if your diseased, and you have ***
Scribbles suggest your *** is bad, but I'll just let it be
I don't know if it is true, so it doesn't bother me

Oh Annette Tidy, are you such a ***** girl
It doesn't really matter, if your not as white as pearl
Nasty girls I do not mind, with every twist and twirl
Your reputation is exposed, so give my **** a whirl

If your not that kind of girl, somebody has a grudge
Acquaintances have not been met, so who am I to judge
I can be subjective, if you let me try your fudge
Juices squeezed in ecstasy, when I give your fruit a nudge

Oh Annette Tidy, is your ***** all that good
Expose yourself in front of me, to activate my wood
If your as bad as it is said,  I don't know if I should
Your probably like all other girls, beneath your knicker hood

Are you really all that Tidy, if you've messed around so much
Is fleshy ***** still neatly tucked, or dangling on your crouch
I'd **** like a rampant rabbit, if let me in your hutch
If you like it up the ****, two guys can ******* Dutch

Oh Annette Tidy , do you have *** holes that smell
Your supposedly a ***** ****, but that's just kiss and tell
Is plunging deep inside you, equivalent to "******* hell"
Just what exactly is the status, of your *** stained well

If your on your period , then remove your ***** pad
A deep red hole is okay, with everyone you've had
I'm sure your **** is bearable, and really not that bad
**** is a great relief, a nice *** and I am glad

Oh Annette Tidy, does your wet slit really stink
With everything that's said, I don't know what to think
It probably has a **** smell, good *** and creamy pink
Just the way that it should be, a place I'd like to sink

Time has passed since ***** *****, were written on the wall
I think your ****** preferences, are not that bad at all
If what is written supposed to be, set make you fall
Then failure is inevitable, because your *** is on the ball

Oh Annette Tidy , how does your hater know your ****** perks
Is he already ******* you, in between those other jerks
Could he be bedroom stalking, who knows the place he lurks
He's probably ****** jealousy, cos you have a **** that works

Future writings I will seek, I don't know where or when
Your nemesis is bound to strike, with his vindictive pervert pen
One day they'll be more escapades, so I will wait till then
****** **** will be revealed. . .Oh Annette Tidy's back again

Dreams that make your body pop, force the show to stop, let your jaw drop and breathe them in,

my dreams are kept in a biscuit tin
and hidden in the wardrobe.

File that under miscellaneous or under the skin, subcutaneous, any information unsought, bought, is probably extraneous and that's enough of us,

It's bedtime in the suburbs, the adverts have taken the lead, the dog's flopped into his basket after having a ****** good feed,

About now I'll jump ship, skip the light fantastic,
I could dream of her knicker elastic, but they don't make that anymore
(actually they might do but what would I know?)

Friday is on the horizon
but it'll never come for those who believe that
the earth is flat.
or maybe it'll just fall into them.

THE LONG HELLO


I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finshed! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.

A day out
with my brothers, my sis' and all the family
Morecambe by the sea,

there wasn't much sand back then
but we didn't mind
man said, 'don't look at the sun or
you'll go blind'.
dad told us that during the war
he captained a tank,
he couldn't drive a car though.

Dangling strings that caught on to those things that clung on to the strings, one needs patience to catch a crustacean and we had lots,

ice cream and jelly tots for tea, 'eat them slowly and they'll last longer'
sage advice
but they tasted so nice and gone.

we kids,
the knicker focker glories
made up from the stories
we think we were told.

"Shhhhh...!"

butterfly asleep
in her knicker drawer
she goes knickerless

THE LONG HELLO

I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finshed! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.

Ive got frilly ones
lily ones
  and downright silly ones

Holey ones
moley ones
  and cheeky holy moley ones

Pink ones, blue ones
and not to
  misconstrue ones

Purple ones
white ones
  and some to give a fright ones

Red ones
in bed ones
  and some on my head ones! (don't ask!)

After a few quick flickers
i counted 35 pairs of knickers
  (some have still got their stickers)

And why are they called a pair?
when there is only one knicker there
  it's not like socks.....

by Jemia

And then never stopped by and said "hello"
lines curled away only to be drawn in
whispers of fictitious subtexts huffed along
my stomach knew the truth and gurgled dissent
the isn'ts an' aints raint against obvious strings
i knew i was played made to sound like nothing
receding while bowing under clouds hiding something

let's make since as small as possible from now
then this space we inhabit likes probes with probes
temporaries laced together letter opener thin slits
breathe yesterday onto my blankety-blank tableu
an' i unknow what came to me onto the heap
of sharp rejection shards embedded in a sunny day
reigned in and skittish i knicker and chuff stranger

THE LONG HELLO

I left my memory
in a run-down hotel

all damp patches
& peeling plaster.

Who am I?
Wish I knew!

Maybe I'm a salesman
traveling in lady's underwear.

Naw...that don't seem right!

I looked into the blur
that formed & unformed

before me
constructing in my mind's eye

a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set

nothing behind it
but...

fakily real.

She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve

bit frayed
'round the edges.

and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.

'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsided grin

was all femme
fatale.

She spoke
in Film Noir.

I knew
the lingo.

'Remember me? '
she sighed softly

as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.

I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.

I'm a stickler for detail.

This broad
was slim

but with curves
in all the right places

; ; ; if ya get my drift.

Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.

'Good...good! '
she cooed.

'I see your ******* is at least
listening! '

I involuntary
covered my crotch

with both hands
as if I was naked.

I wish she was.

Her curves flowed
like very runny honey

over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip

of a tongue.

She was strictly
yum as in YUM!

Then she went
all Cubist on me

as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.

I felt like a 2-D
drawing

as she approached me
in 3-D.

My conscience found
its voice

(down behind
the back of the couch)

It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.

'Ouch! ' I ouched.

'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice

'I believe I know...
....who done it! '

'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.

'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.

'I guess we both know the score.'

She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall

to the floor
where it pooled at her feet

like a green silk
puddle.

'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like *** a chelli's

Birth(I burp) of Venus! '

'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink

...done it! '

'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '

'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finished! '

She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.

I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.

She poured her body
all around me

like jelly
in a mold.

'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '

Her kiss was like
the last page

of a **** good Who
...dun it!

finally falling
falling

falling
into place.

I kissed her
lovely face.

WHO'S A CLEVER GIRL THEN!

vest on inside out
2 legs in one...knicker hole
shoes on-

- back to front
"I dress myself by myself!"
"So I see....eh...so I see!"