Pool Party

Olympic freestyle w/ jungle animals was an instant hit.

The world's top swimmers, driven by ambition and terror, amused the crowd with feats of athletic derring-do.

Behold the gentle panda

blocking lane three

and the gnu in two

basking elegantly.

It was indeed unfortunate about the hungry tigers

diving in and disturbing the plastic markers.

Next, we offer soccer w/ lion pride.

Test audiences loved it, sponsorships galore!

That's tonight at ten.

Gymnastics w/ wolverines tomorrow at four.

______

for Sunday Muse #144

Wait

Wait for me,
wait--
where the river runs
softly south.

Night will come,
night--
let her let her silver
stars come out.

Stay, my love,
stay--
though the hour goes
two, then four;

Then come, my love,
come--
and you'll never have to wait
anymore.
_______

Rosary

I have a rosary made of birds.
I have an ache made of your absence.

When I am praying, the birds stay with me. Stars replace them.
This is my arrangement with the sky at sunset.

Sometimes passing trucks sing the street; other times footsteps.
Sometimes God laughs; other times She is silent.

Holding birds in one's hands is holy.
My hands know your name, and the braille of my body in its longing.

I always say the same prayer, to be nearer to you.
I have a rosary made of birds.
_______

 

Desire

I want to love her like a rainy Sunday.

I want to breeze in the back door,

Trailing low bruisy clouds from my hair.



For her, I want to be heart-catchingly gorgeous.

I want to be the most filthy beautiful woman who ever made the fields falter and bow.



I'm not, of course.

I am older than late afternoon,

And as plain as garden mud.



Still, I blush darker to say,

I dream of her--

And my desire, far from fading,

Has only grown more insistent.

When I was young, I was blank blue sky;

Now I blow in where I will, brooking no argument, scattering the crows.



I want to leave her soaked inside like church gloves left on the roof of the car in the storm.

I want her as fragrant as rain grass.

I want to think, "I love my own smooth face when I am this close to her."



I want to love her like a rainy Sunday.

I want to keep her inside,

In bed,

All the sweet afternoon long.

_______

magpie 60

Satisfaction

The Queen of the Vampires slips between buildings in the night--

She glides like a dark idea you won't admit to...

She is hungry

She is not exactly human

She is there, in the shadows, waiting.



The stars over Norman are exactly seven more than normal--

They are scattered like bubbles in the blood upon seeing one's beloved,

They can stop a heart

Or start one.

The QOTV is a needful girl tonight,

Her nature demanding,

Yet completely familiar,

Like a pet that bites.



Here comes someone.

Here comes someone down the sidewalk, like a drop of blood down the skin of a throat...

Here comes a warm living soul.

Jackpot.



The QOTV feels each muscle tense and relax in the ancient dance--

She feels half primed already, just from anticipation.

The walker draws close, like an omen of the end time,

And the QOTV steps out from her place of concealment,

A smooth soft blur;

She is on her like her next breath,

For the walker is definitely female.



The QOTV goes for the throat,

Bitch to her natural desires, unthinking, an embodied rush of need.

The woman laughs,

Then doesn't,

As they sway into a corner together.

"Baby," she manages between kisses.

The QOTV only makes purring sounds that say,

"I missed you

Only you

Out of this whole goddam world."

Blood can be gotten elsewhere, from anyone--

Right now, the QOTV is all about the Dark-Haired Chick, for that is who it is;

And who is the prey,

And where solid ground has gone

Is anybody's guess.

_______

for One Shot Wednesday

Pssst...

Ya got no business--
Like a sneaky cat in the fish cannery;
Ya got no right--
Always singing after midnight,
Crossing against the light...
What are you thinking when you say to me
That I'm "your" girl?
I'm nobody's girl,
Not even the wind's.

Oh, but you'll say,
When you call me "your" girl and such,
That the lady doth protest
A little too cotton pickin much.
When you call me "your" girl,
I want to strut, preen and pose,
From the protest on my lips
Down to my cotton pickin toes.

Ya got no business--
But I just want to let it drop
That since you've called me "your" girl,
It's all right if you don't stop.   ;-)

_________

6:30

When I dream about you, it is always summer;

Time lazes like grass stalks.



When I speak your name, it is like sucking on a good ripe plum;

It is both ordinary and sharply delicious.



When I dream about you, I always want to kiss you, and you want to, too;

Then I wake up and all day I feel sun-warmed and sleepy with desire.
______