Howls Of The Groom

Sniffing, snorting,
scratching, howling
up at a blue moon full;
growling, languishing,
running trail, straight past
the hails of an alter bound
bride so true.

Soprhy to Sopris,
bound between three rivers,
let me bury mine,
within your belly;
change your pink,
to swollen red,
and last all night
until we are both,
black and blue and howling,
as the new sun arises!

Mound of Grace,
smooth as silk,
and quite a tasty morsel mighty;
bathed in the stream
fed by mountain snows;
and how light thrown shows
her skin as lightening!

White, glistening, drops
of pearly essence she did shed;
a queen she was, but not mine,
for she was head high held
above all the people,
and as swine flew
on wings of bats,
she showed her true demeanor;
wrathing out against
even her own gender;
what a foolish, feminine fatal
and sore loser!

Who cried Virginia,
how Civil is any War;
make amends foolish creature
from a black lagoon;
tell George Jr.
he better get out of Iraq now!

by Michael Walkerjohn

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