I found a token to spend upon a puffy ride,
upwards to clouds I went... freedom came,
My po'um found space (and content too)
bubbles danced with giggles in grace
and voices led and said 'lay over', do!
three days of deep comfort, in bed
THREE days I would take
if it's under your sheets,
a distinction I make
where the Mountain Twins meet,
there I'd start a slow slide
to the valley below
in the creek I would glide
where the stalagmites glow.
When it comes to a choice
I take bubbles from there
they may pamper my voice
they might stick to my hair.
Yet I'm smitten as such
with the gold as it flows
it is heavenly touch
and the giggles are prose.
Would you send me the script
I will have an excuse
all objections are nipped
as I kiss you, my muse.
All scriptures indeed are proposals of truth
but nipples kissed as objects,
I cry in oath, Australian
‘Bloody hell and Strewth’! ! !
Amused you enquire… Perhaps? ?
(in giggles that bust
tossed in bubbles
turned over in lust)
and of the mighty sticky in hair
you may have caught me open…
Sigh.. yes, and unaware
But tis my prerogative
and I don’t have to declare…
“…when drops are dew … tis special affair”
OF the heart's sweet affairs
there are cousins of kin
one is Lust (sticks to hairs)
the other, Chaste without sin,
they're a wonderful team
just like good and bad cop
Lust likes peaches and cream
Chaste stays sweetly on top,
where the red lips invite
and the tongue titillates
while in regions at night
Lust seeks wonderful states.
Hence it's Chaste for the nipple
and the kissing and hugs
meanwhile Lust loves the ripple
just beyond the fur rugs.
Sticky hairs would make cluster
whereas shampoo would make Lustre
I wonder what statements creations could muster?
For the regions I know some are arid, some dry
I need a Texan ranger to bring some oil and supply
wells of plentiful, as golden flow on heavens touch
shagpile carpets, loads of wine,
…. Perfumed flowers to clutch
WILL a crutch be required to ascend the crevasse
I had sought the advice of an apple-cheeked lass,
a small rake to untangle and straighten the locks
she was certain that optional clothes would be socks.
I have little to draw from, as my past was quite chaste
yet I left Luther's Burg in a dustcloud of haste,
he, the master had been with the devil at odds
when I climbed to the base on the two lightning rods.
As I passed a small spire and I looked through the glass
I saw potbelly fire and a beautiful ass.
She was round near the furries and was carrying twins
near the place where the fishes do carry their fins.
She was slow in her movements and her hand full of foam
curly hairs in four places, was the symbol of Rome.
On the stove was spaghetti and the sauce fiery red
peels of garlic confetti near a freshly made bed.
It brought blood to my nipples, well at first to the cheeks
then strong, phallicose ripples with their goosebumpy peaks,
I stayed just for a little till the foam was applied
from my chin ran the spittle, and the lingua cried.
I must say I remember and my life has now changed
on that day in December when I thought me deranged,
So today I bring oil and the Dallas made drill
and I watch the earth boil and the second well fill.
You stir me in furnace, tall smelter of steel
Assorted condiments, dark pepper some peel
Odd socks and eyelashes, in the mix I will flick
My movements change pace, now I'm moving too quick
All dustclouds have vanished, contained in a mask
I drip through purest filters, as best secret in flask
Your lingua should lap up, revived to full amount
(I keep registry log in a secret account)
So change just a little, you might master and make
out to exotic location, hot earth sand bed be our cake.
I'D rescue your soul lest you burn like a steak
close the furnace tonight and cut up the big cake,
serving Bundaberg Rum in a glass we can share
while I brush with my lips your most beautiful hair.
Did you know that all starch turns to sugar inside
tis the reason that cake is the food for a bride,
hold this flask for a sec while I put down the brush
have a swig of this brew and then hush, baby hush,
I have changed and assess that we put in the fridge
all the crumbs that are left and then tackle the ridge
screw convention and those who would count calories
them's the folks that hang underthings high in the trees,
well, a man is entitled to change like a leaf
first he's green, then he's sweet, like the Barrier Reef,
and the coral just waits for the sound of the tide
may I ask you to come, on the seahorse we ride?
Right behind you I sit, while we battle the fear
I may stick, while we fly my wet tongue in your ear.
Worry not, my dear Muse, I may nibble your nose
but I'll let you say NO to these things I suppose.
Supposition as to riding on seahorse to battle
Your talk throws conventions but does baby rattle
under skeletal bones if she’s doctored and fed?
Does entitlements green mean barter of leafy head?
For I can blow more than calories on sweetness of bong
with munchies, crunchies and Rum swig swallow of song
and nibble comes easy as my three day layover in suggest
maybe … I’ll seek another token and make allowance for guest
YOU will like my seahorse, he has much to excite
all your senses will hum and you'll be up every night.
See, the horse on the land is a worker as such
and inspite of his oats he ain't good for too much,
take a horse from the sea and lie back to receive
not a lecture a winnie or a sudden reprieve.
May I ask you to come to the meeting of souls
it's where folks will find out how to see their own roles.
Not a baby I've known has made sounds like a rattle
that's for pigs and small goats but it's common in cattle,
I say listen me girl I have acres of sheep
and the word of a man who has pledges to keep.
Butt I am in New Zealand where the sheep fill the pantry
I'll just take your acres, your seahorse be your entry