Once Wedding Whites

Once Wedding Whites

I usually carry darkness on my back, the want to wear monastic black.
A clever cloistered clock of age.
A Reptilian’ romantic for you with our cockeyed love as a warm lubricant.
Wearing white did delight me into virginity that night.
Your naked newness untouched well within me.
Please tell me of sex out right tonight.
Within me lies the sexsilliness, the glee.
To be held, to be had.
Kneel between my turtle’s feet,
I want to hear the gurgles.
I give you all I have; I look for me in you.
And you in me in this emotional epoxy.
My tongue wishes to search upriver for fever from bodacious beaver.
The past Hatters must have had them all.
My grinding, broken, greaseless gears,
showing my reluctant, colorless years
of wear and tear.
Finally, now there are telling tears to lubricate my liberation.
Twelve ravens once watched us in my dream from a Pine’ treetop,
the bay beheld behind where I placed black bird houses no longer extant.
My latest far-flung fantasy foreclosing on your return from mountaineering.
Your Amazon’ arrival birthday present, actually “a gift for me”.
With you and I mainlining diverse identity, a definite divinity.
A prostrate prayer for our serenity.
My former phallic formula for winged flight,
not to be burnt up as Icarus was in the singe and sunlight.
I will bathe in your Balthus’ bedroom light.
Volumes of vascular pretend under black velvet voluntold.
A chance perchance to choke.
Your strapping cool cock in your hand to hold.
I yearn and yield to be told to unfold.
I am across your knee to be sorely scold.
To be called on the carpet for my misconduct.
I can not elevate my innate self.
And so, I do not masturbate myself.
A womanly whirlpool pulls my pants down past my knees.
I want to see you behind me so beastly hung.
The return to our once wedding normalcy is not a race.

But please, do sit on my face.