My Naked Selfie Collection

I’m trying to collect
all my stray poems-
the ones I’ve sent here
and there
and way over there-
into one definitive collection.

However,
I know there are
a few naked selfies,
literary self-portraits,
that could come back
to haunt me-
and just because
I tore and burned up
my copies
doesn’t mean
they don’t exist anymore.

So, this is my plea
to Laurie, Bonnie,
Jean, Gracia, Kim,
Darra, Teresa, Cyndie
and the handful
of others
whose faces
I remember,
but not
their names:

If you’re holding on
to any of my poetry,
I’ll buy them
all back,

$5 bucks apiece,

no questions asked.

Valentine's Day Playlist 2017

Every year, I make my lovely bride, Anita, a mix CD of songs for Valentine's Day.  Here's this year's playlist. Enjoy it with someone you love, naked if possible.

My First Love

My first love
was music,
comforting, exciting
and mysterious.

As I grew,
I put myself into
the lyrics of the song,
as though they were
a script for my heart
to follow.

Years lumbered by
and as I fell into
what resembled love,
I would hear the music,
look at the women,
and knew
they were disconnected.

Then I met Anita,
and all the songs
were new.

I couldn’t sing them
anymore
without my voice
cracking
with joyful tears.

She was the one
to make all the lyrics
true for me,

all the melodies
poetry for me,

and because of her
true love,
she was able
to improve upon
my first love.

[Go to https://dversepoets.com/ - it won't hurt much.]

My Vietnamese Ghost Bride Confesses

My Vietnamese ghost bride
from 1994
confessed
through a dream:

“Yes,
you followed the rules,
kept your promises,
waited years,
but I was
bound to betray you.

I’m sorry,
but neither
your scrawny penis
nor puny
credit card limit
could satisfy
my avaricious
vagina.”

[For Dverse, you know, right there: here]

Capitalization Counts (for Sarah)

The search for
Happiness
is elusive, illusionary.

However,
happiness
exists in smaller,
more modest
forms.

So,
have a donut,
look at the rain,
remember
I love you.

Her Wedding Prayer

As she stuttered
her vow
“for p-p-poorer,”

she prayed
the semen
of the man
she eventually left me
for

wouldn’t
trickle
down
her
white-laced
leg.

[In commemoration of Black Sunday, February 13, 1994, wherein yours truly plays the part of the Biggest Schmuck in The Universe.]

Micropucker

Her moist,
yielding lips,

twitch and
micropucker,

waiting to be
answered,

filled
and fulfilled,

by this warm,
and slippery friend,

so firm,
uninhibited
and ecstatic.

Buzzing

In our afterglow,

she radiates 

serenity, satiety.

I roll over,

confidently 

drifting 

into slumber,

as a buzzing 

emanates 

from her side 

of the bed.

[Written for Fireblossom Friday at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/02/fireblossom-friday-looking-beyond.html.]