Sunday, 13 December 2009

#1 The Mad Man In The Bush

His arms are spectacular
scarred by life's demands
they drip a certain kind of sweat
which charm those swooning hoes
blowing his troubles away.

I can see him through the window
sporting an indigo wife beater
and surfer boy shorts.
There's always wasted women
hanging from his limbs
playing games to win him
for an afternoon of bliss.
My jealous little heart doth bleed
to see them touch his bones
to lick away his misty brow
and steal my rightful moans.
To be the one to scream with him
well only time will tell -
Restraining orders are a pain,
he's dragging me through Hell.

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