sarikha
love …
a crutch for you
but you wear it like a Prada suit
matching handbag, of course, to keep
your toys in …
(mostly men … alphabetically)
six-inch Blahnik stilettos for crushing
egos with similar style
but not via hearts -
straight through their venerating eyes
gray matter properly mangled
into chemic chaos -
receptor sites jammed
while their limbic systems languish …
marionettes with synaptic tendrils tied to
your blinged fingertips -
“dance, my darlings … this is IT!”
watermelon vape, swirling out your
nostrils like nicotine noodles
entrancing the ‘little folk’ …
oh to be the fly on your walls -
the lisps on your lips
to be the catkin-soft integument that
clings to your feverish flesh
to know the “pow!” of your empowering ego
painfully marginalized for beauty
like the moons on your fingernails -
growing with each ouchy push
of those cute cuticles …
oh sweetness -
how I’d transform you if I
were but deity
daub you daringly with my moonlight brush,
chin-to-shins …
sunset crimson to slather your toes
pull stars from the vault to set
your tresses ablaze
and drape the Milky Way about your shoulders
christening your surfaces
with impish luster …
yes …
there is redemption in you
a seductive salvation
it is coy and tentative and wry
but it captures …
from your coal-black eyes to
Cheshire grin
it pulls the world IN like a vortex
but it needs tender taming
and an ambiguously selfish lover
who yearns your pleasure far
more than his own -
who finds his excitement in
exciting YOU
who has no passion short
of stirring yours
who is here, now
and only needs one dear …
deliciously dark …
whisper …
“yes”
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 11, 2024
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