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Buttercup as an anemone, I see my bonbon In the midst of a wharve spin, Graciously thin languette, Ecclesiastic, a true coquette, Offered for a handful of sequin On the 1000-thread linen, rests Evangeline! Shine the uptown shrine with whispering vocal cords As the frock is overcome with a slow descend, Never mind the sallow ambience of An ageing Jesuit mission, or thereof, Words of prohibition annulled by disparlure: Madame! – as they say, I don’t kiss-poor. My appearance, utterance of faith, Expected and grandiloquent, Clasped the mortification with inflamed blood, Yet budding desire, instantly prescribed, Not to let it out of my sight. But to greybeard wonderful torrents of luxury, About to 5G live-stream this imperious rite Will put a stop to any cavil, A cue in hand to excite ’n’ appease the inner devil, I abide the coming, Evangeline! Cordial satisfaction, marvellous plantation of joy, Memento mori, I must this very moment, I must die.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Date: 9/25/2019 7:42:00 PM
Viola! Excellent expression of carnal pleasure. I like it. Well done. Bravo!!!!!kelli
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Hound of Poetry
Date: 9/26/2019 12:52:00 AM
Thanks Kelli. This was inspired by Marquez's Memories of My Melancholy Whores, and some random thoughts and convos with friends. Much appreciated.