tagErotic PoetryTimes Own

Times Own


Times are when the birds wheel high in the sky
   entrails spewed out far below  
young 'uns looking through the rubble
   olders standing , hips askew at corners
   and where do the buzzing flies go
wandering like busybody ones always do
   flitting around  
were they dungheap ones
fat succulent ones  
to be quashed with a lovely crunching sound
   juicy gouts of fluids spurting as He grinds them down    
lascivious visions wafting in across His senses
   here now, and then gone    
But delicious as he desires that completion
   should that be the norm  
should the chase begin  
track 'em down
   find 'em and take them out slowly  
a lil at a time  
guttural screams fading away
Wants that and then    
would that be too fitting an end
slowly then straightens from the rut
   Visceral look, and gaunted desires    
Make them One's own
                               as is Times Own

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