I gasped, as asp clasped fast
around my head like a plaster cast cap.
It was coiled round and round
like a ringlet of hair wrapped
around a curler, with head reared up
poised like spitting cobra.
What spell can I cast to uncoil, unclasp the asp?
For I'm too scared to grasp the asp
and cast the serpent skyward.
Perhaps wearing the Uraeus asp cap
means I'm a Pharaoh!
I wait for the night when he enters my dreams.
Nearly can't breathe with desire so deep.
Marking the hours forever it seems.
If he can't make it home I might just weep.
Donning my silkiest cloth I get ready.
I slip into bed and await his return.
Imagined pleasures make my brow sweaty.
Hugging my pillow I feel the burn.
Somewhere in the night I feel his touch.
His body hot right next to mine.
He lets me know he's missed me so much
without uttering a single line.
As our passion rises I lose control.
There's no stopping now, it's been so long.
We're body to body and soul to soul.
This feeling's so right it can't be wrong.
He rocks my world and curls my toes!
And I'll do my best to bring him pleasure.
We'll sail on through the highs and lows.
Passionate days and nights we treasure.
written Feb. 27th,2015
for the contest "Hotsy Totsy"
sponsored by Rachel Firmin
My lemon-colored hair
Sprawls out
Covering the pastel silhouette. Of my pillow.
Almost expectedly. The phone rings
Piercing a silence. That lay thick.
Immediately, I answer.
It's my son.
He asks if I want the good news
Or the bad news first. I say the good news.
He made bail.
\Walking through the precinct,
My footsteps are sufficiently echoed
By my racing heart. I'm too tired
To be this angry.
And as I pass. Through Weapons Check
It's reassuring to note. That my eye-lash curler
Is confiscated.
Summer Ablutions
Stunned by July in a hammock
he remembers the apricot wife
no longer here
one curler more and the flutter
of leaves in the orchard
the sound of trees
letting go
a downpour of plums
flowing over
the wicker
propped open
below
Donal Mahoney
Prior to Conception
As if stunned by July in a hammock
I wait for my apricot wife
One curler more and the flutter
of leaves in the orchard
the sound of trees
letting go
a downpour
of plums still bouncing
around in the wicker
propped open below
Donal Mahoney