Brown and Pink
The bracken, as life does, has turned to rust.
They make their way up through it, rustling through
The brown. They need to find a way to thrust
In love — or something like it. He shoves spew
Inside pink guts once they are over hill
And out of sight. Rose guts receive that love,
Its color not like rusted metal, spill
Of off-white slime instead, the loving shove
Delivering the gusts in darkness, deep inside.
They both desire that stuff will not leak out.
The one receiving it has opened wide
And now wants capture of the spurts, the spout.
Clammed love is clamped inside the sloping pink,
That softest, tightest, slickest greedy chink.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Feb 8, 2025 | CU, FU, GA, HE, IN, SE, SP, ST |