May 27, 2006

Forget the Rules

Forget the rules. We're out of soap.
The electric razor is on the fritz.
Disaster blooms upon your chin
and blisters my tender throat.
Still, my blood runs hot.
Hide yourself between my breasts.
Punch the puritan quilt to the floor.
Our bodies form a demented cross
against the cold Capricorn sun,
and passion hijacks the morn.

1 comment:

Cherie! said...

an mmmm....morn!