I never knew this is what it was called until it
Happened to me
In public.
At first it was traumatic
As it came out bellowing like a banshee
And the aromatic bouquet wasn't flowering it
Was a catastrophe.
Rotten egg smell is atomic!
I never knew this is what it was called until it
Happened to me
In public
There was every one staring at me as if I had
Committed murder in the first degree
Over something that is erratic
And the body does automatic
I sat down on the closet bench I laughed
Until the tears rolled down my face as I was
Catching my breath my grandson wondered
If I was alright. I said I don't think my heart has
Felt this free. It is time to finish my shopping
Before they decide to charge me with dispersing
Atomic energy.
I never knew this is what it was called until it
Happened to me
In public.
Leave In Our Wake
wisdom in years and growing old
can't even take a single step to hold
without let one go
nagging fear I do not know
a loud crop-dusting sound of gold
6/6/2017
Crop dusting now,
Endings inevitable.
And in this keyhole
I strain to see
your nostalgia.
Patty cake games
Untimely now
And your breath
so much slower
than before.
This closeness
will follow me
eternally so,
until it is my
time for
Departure.
Sweating,
bench pressing,
ripping my chest..
Urgg,
the final stretch.
Whew,
she breezes by.
Crop dusting her
"love Spell Perfume".
WOW,
my eyes follow her across the room.
In dream-land,
I've lost focus,
under hypnosis,
now "tailing" that tail.
bent over,
tan thighs.
That apple bottom
caught my eye.
No surprise though,
I'm a booty kind of guy.
Those blue latex tights,
fit your hips so right.
I fight,
fight my growing urge.
Candy for my eyes,
such visual delight.
I can't focus on my work-out,
with that magnificent sight.
Sweet, caramel apple,
ample eye candy.
Erotic, mass provoking,
thoughts encourage Gym-Nasties...
**Concluding the Gym-Nasties collaboration started by Linda-Marie Bariana "Sweetheart"
Jared Pickett
12/17/09
Asavvy1
It was a shame to make them wait so long.
They had been at it for ages;
The crop-dusting, the vaccuum cleaners,
the tense smiles,
Laughter made them fly.
Though it was never enough and sometimes
shameful in polite circles.
Crying would often give way to great freedom,
That monk-like freedom, provided by a walk-in bedroom closet.
Unlike anger with its tauting of the muscles
choking all thought.
And then we arrived
With the sound of an odd-melodied bird
Arriving to ourselves in new gladness,
Stopping the pushing of those strange and stubborn wheels:
The wheels of desire, the wheels of tomorrow, the wheels of doubt.
Those strange and stubborn wheels
Will let us walk away.