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Antithesis

In May, the lion’s ear blooms immaculately,
As if the night sky is on fire.
It excretes a ravishing untarnished beauty,
A mesmerizing compelling beauty
Only the mad mystics and poets can discern.
Here, put on these rubber sandals;
The pair with the ostrich plumes,
For the walkway to my hidden tower is replete, 
With thorns, bristles and stickers; the ladder there
Has splinters that anesthetize one’s toes,
Your plump white toes with the crimson polish,
Applied there like bloody footsteps on murderous floors.
There is nothing we can do to offset the numbing,
Except, pretend we never met or kissed that time,
When we decided to dare the gods of crescendoing passion.
I remember you decided unilaterally 
To disrobe inside my ‘72 Land Yacht,
For fear of eternally disappointing me.
“Here, take my hat and cover yourself.”
Indeed, you are the antithesis of me.
But now, let us walk to my high garlanded tower,
A mile and a quarter from here, 
Where we will sit naked on velvet carpet,
And rub thumbs in the candle light,
As Debussy music inundates our sated senses,
From speakers attached to the walls like bison heads,
Surrounded by insect-slaughtered window panes,
And glass bongs that spew atoms of electric sex.
Relax honey, it’s wonderful you’re so open-minded.
Relax, you will love the interesting insides
Of my tall and comfortable tower, where
We will observe the unfolding continuing tragedies, 
Of dire human existence; it will be
Just like reading old newspapers from 1968, black print
Still greasy with unslaughtered fish, complete
With disastrous headlines no one wants to remember. But
We, you and I, will remember them, and weep a little,
When the mad dancing inevitably commences,
Here, inside and beside our grinding bodies.
Look over there, honey.
Do you see the lion’s ear blooming immaculately?
Do you hear their soft cries whimpering in the night,
Like virgin lovers squealing in the darkness?
Yes honey, we can hear their invisible sighs and moans,
From the top of my high
And comfortable tower.
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