- Erotic Poetry
- The Power of G's
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On a cloud, surrounded by canned air sounds,
with broccoli trees, and Matchbox cars below,
mankind streams, and babbles toward it's fated destination.
Mine, an abduction by status quo, it's only with the force of G
that feet are firmly planted with heels dug in,
as if that would help, that I leave behind
his breath as sweet as summertime; that I'm forced to settle
for the memory alone of the stormy, yet whispered
breeze of tongue and lips unfurling wings
of pink, then closing them again to suck
and hum to coaxed-back hood, exposing peak.
It was clearly expected and understood
that we were bound to be engulfed by a different cloud
complete with self-burned tunes of our own surround sounds.
