would that i could
have a lover
that should write a sonnet
on over
me
it might start on a lark
in the light of the dark
at the top of my crown
and end in a couplet at my feet
the rhyme would be fine there
would be no line unnecessary
or covered in dust
’twould finally prove that i am
as fine and fit as a clam
worthy of great love and much lust
’stead said he (and i para-
phrase) something like this:
she goes like a ship
through my thin and my thick
leaving no shoal left unexplored or unlicked
she flames and she flickers
never bites never bickers
whether to attend to the lee or the aft
her red lips do insist
to kiss me to bliss
long and strong are her grenadier arms
whether lank and loose at her sides
(and lord, her midriff is toned
in accord with the Times
the new erogenous zone)
or tight round my then bejeweled and embraced neck
she’s bedecked with features so fine
dark as soot are her eyes
halibut white are her thighs
gold and untame as a cat’s is her mane
and methinks her lynx soft wild meek and insane
her nose squarely and boldly reposes,
in her cheeks i find meadow-pink roses and wink, wink,
her rump is quite plump to boot
though her teats are too small
really that’s all
that my lady lacks in the dawn or the dusk
but whether clad or undressed
her love she doth not profess
ah well, there’s a certain rapport with the dirth
which all the more
leaves room for a haven...
oh low
flush
lush
shallow
slow
heaven
unleavening
this
huge
round
horrible
horny
earth
but ’twas not good enough for my ear nor my need
so i sent him away with no other in stead