tagErotic PoetryMemories of Mission Beach

Memories of Mission Beach

byCal Y. Pygia©

The Ferris wheel turning like fate
round and round
slow and sound
the night unraveling in people seeking thrills
the barker and the shill
the freaks waiting just inside
tents to ambush with their deformities
and make hearts skip beats

Far away, war rages
the same war we wage
every day, day in, day out,
day after day
seeking our way
seeking Control over the unruly masses
who are the others
the "they" against whom, or which, "we" contend

Breasts are buoyant tonight
they float past clouds and stars
drifting toward the soft, pale glow
of the blind cave fish
pregnant with mysteries
beyond our ken

I follow breasts
and buttocks
as shamans pursued
omens long ago
counting the teeth and claws
of animals they slew
just to occasion

Breasts are pert and pretty things
always more bounce to the ounce
than is necessary—unruly things
in their own excusable way

They belong on ingenues
they should not be worn bare
by anyone, boy or girl, over thirty
but buttocks are different
they are sleek, but firm
having learned a thing or two
as a result of losing their nipples

They sash shay left and right
jiggling but do not bounce
they have learned to feign
being reserved; they pretend modesty
but they buoy my heart and soul
as readily and as easily as did breasts
once, unfettered from more repressive times

The Ferris wheel turns
one millennium at a time
below and beyond, the soldier
with the girl enters a savage land
where cotton candy is blood-red
and wet with the eruption of death
sweet to eat

Halfway into our date
at her house
she sheds her clothes
showing me her breasts
pert and buoyant
and her buttocks
smooth and firm
and her penis
soft and limp
and said, "Make me hard,
just once, please, for you."

Outside, the Ferris wheel turned round
and the moon shone
pale as her breasts
and round
as her buttocks
and I went up and down
and round and round
through the starry night

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byCal Y. Pygia© 0 comments/ 3195 views/ 0 favorites

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