Poems · Uncategorized

“Proper Lunch”



“Proper Lunch”

As I sit here,

I can’t help but notice the two of you.

You seem to be engaged in a careful social rite.

You are sharing a proper lunch.

I know your secret, though.

Let’s drop the pretenses, shall we?


Every evenly forked morsel carefully guided up under your protecting hand and into your mouths.

You block the sight of your chewing with the unforked hand.

Chewing with precision and wired shut jaws.

Nothing out of place.

Symmetry on target.

No sloshing, grinding, and tearing.

Not yet, anyways.

A right proper lunch.

Propriety observed.

No acknowledgement of animal delights,

or baser natures.

Banal carnality.

No stains, no scents, no sweat.

Elbows off the table.

Gentle, exacting movement.


Ah, but the pressure mounts,

and eventually, the dam will burst.


The tension’s necessity will overcome propriety, and you will eat gluttonously.




Flailing, tears and grunts.

Mouth fulls of salty sustenance.

Gorging, past the point of full.


Then, and truly then, the hands come down, you chew expressively and without regard.

You embrace a baser nature, and become more of yourself, and more of each other.


Eat, drink, and be merry.

Anticipation, a huge building tease.


Let it rip.


Time is of the essence.


When faced with the urgency that later presents itself, there will only be guarded hands over mouths to mute the escaping cries of ecstasy.


Digest that.

August 2017 Poems-31 Daze

“When are we going to get to some under the shirt stuff?”

Poem 29’s title is a bit of a misnomer, in relation to how I went with it. I suppose you can take it to mean whatever you want, but sometimes you have to work with what is given to you. As I’ve asked friends, acquaintances, and known felons to contribute to my project, there really is no standard or judgment for acceptance. Life is juicy, messy, and full of things we’re told we can’t talk about. I will create with what has been given. So, a phrase like this helps me to see things in another way. I won’t reveal who suggested such a provocative topic, but needless to say it is likely they will not being getting to any under the shirt stuff anytime soon for lack of tact, not lack of trying.




“When are we going to get to some under the shirt stuff?”


Backseat salutations to you my date.

Dinner delicious, waiter exemplary.

What next?

Let’s do what we talked about.

It’s dark here and no one is around.

It’s the only place where we can be alone.


You are a one.

A picture primed for some magazine.

I envy your beauty.

I want you.

Watching you as you take out your metallic lipstick case.

You twist the tube, and crimson shoots up.

I”m not far behind.

You apply the lipstick.

My lips are wet and shiny.

You take off your stockings and brush them against my leg.

I”ve never been so excited.

The anticipation is killing me.

Your hands are expert,

and your clothes are so delicate.

I can smell your perfume as the articles fall off of you,

and then surround me.

My head is swimming.

No one can see us.

Well, you can see me.

I’ve lost my breath.

I shimmy your stockings up my heels, over my calves,

and they feel tight, but dazzling.

In the rearview mirror,

I catch a glimpse of another woman in the backseat with you.

The lipstick is dried.

You help to apply eye shadow.

I’ve never felt so at one with a stranger.

She’s so close to me.

I never knew.

You remove your bra and slowly harness me.

I have goosebumps.

You are as excited as I am.

I see desire in your eyes,

and feel desire in my heart.

The goosebumps on my arms could read as Braille to a blind man.

What would it say?

It would tell the world that tonight I’m electric.

You pass me your compact,

and I look at a beautiful woman looking back at me.

I see through her, through me, in me.

I’m in love with a secret.

And so happy to share the burden with another soul.