Monday, November 8, 2010

Love, on the Rocks

Trudging through the blotchy blue,
a slave and queen, as rudely nu
as codas to pornography can be,
proceeded to their hidden lair to see

if they could tolerate another bout
of sexual despair without
him spilling her
or killing her

or her revealing
that she had been stealing
bits of stuff from him
until enough of him

was gone
that she could get her Cleopatra on,
slip off the lunk,
and end this funk –

and celebrate her solo
life with lovely dry Barolo
wine and scotches full of ice.
Now wouldn’t that be nice.


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