My Banker, My Lover
You have a itch, Veronica
That only I can scratch
I have a tongue You foxy one
And it belongs on your snatch
You’re a bleeding ball of desire
All bank reticence and finery
I’m the corruscating purifying fire
With the dream of you merely absent.
You’re all lace and refinery, Veronica,
Nothing but. All shapely bottoms,
Voluptuous breasts upon which you
Stack what is more precious
Your fine mind. I can smell
Your intoxicating aroma from a mile away
With windows shut tight
Against the impinging wind and sunlight
Do you cheat, I’ve heard
Only loose girls are worth anything
The looser the better, wind chimes
notches on lipstick cases, gangling rings
You’re drop dead gorgeous
What’s a poor boy to do?
From your hand springs heaven
That and the morning dew.
A burning ball of light you are
A brief but eternal spark in eternity
A blessing to all you touch and all
Who know something of your purview.
What say we have a threesome?
Me, Thu, and your husband.
He cums on your mouth and I lick it off
And swallow it or your divine triangle.
More importantly, my finger, my tongue
On your brush, your perineum
As we embrace ever so briefly, tell me,
It means nothing.
Meet me in the gutter
The confluence of all humanity
And much that isn’t
Meet me in the sacred street.