dead camera, live wife

My camera’s dead. Again. Looks like final death this time.

My mind is dead as well. No words, no thoughts, no echoes.

So where be blog? Here blog, come on bloggy . . . I have some odd fotos for you.

Flux it. Here are a few poems I wrote for my wife, before and after we married six months after we started. Most seem sexual, but you have to keep in mind that I was in my 20th year of voluntary celibacy when she came along and ignored my GO AWAY door mat.

~ ~ ~

Wife

Let me be your rat dog baby
Let me lick your underside
Lace my like to you my lady
Stick my stack in overdrive

You thing my swing in ever land
You wind my wig in counter time
You slip my slide in slither land
You bounce my bump in rhythm rhyme

No rubber bumper baby bugger
Our poems and art offspring will be
No inside box no barcode rudder
We free rove range about our be

So let me be your rat dog baby
Please let me lick your underside
I’ve laced my like to you my lady
You stick my stack in overdrive

~ ~ ~

Lineman

Hey baby, what’s your sign?
Cum here often?
Wanna see my coloring book?
I’ve got a big red crayon
Fit right between your lines

~ ~ ~

My first poem to her. eight days after we took up.

Pulp Lust

Your “you do with me as you want”
Popped plans of white slave trades
And long slow humid caravans
On large lumbering cockroaches
Thru jungle green into my brain.

~ ~ ~

My Scarless Lady

My woman has been with many men
Before coming with me
Her her makes her she
Her she wishes me
Our now exoskeleton her then

~ ~ ~

Match

Mingus our magic
We mingle our meld both mode
And modality

~ ~ ~

My second poem to her back in September 2005, ten days after we began.

Dada Graybeard

A lady poet followed me home
And asked if I could keep her
I replied
It must be denied
For I had no room in my freezer
She engineered her stay
Of relocation with play
Charm and elocution
Praised this and that
Allowed a wee pat
Counted on evolution
I may be cheap
And easy too
But for female I’m hard-wired
And too
It’s sort of cool
This once being the one that’s desired
Though I question her taste
Her need of rat’s waste
A too hasty fade
Will shatter shades
I cannot replace
Best to see
What she reweaves
What treasure in her trundle
Though it fracture my plan
I am but man
And man is meant to bundle

~ ~ ~

And this from three weeks later when I realized I was in love, not lust.

Plant Shepherd

I water 3 plants at work

Just now went to each, thrust
My fingers through their leaves
Into their soil to check for moistness

And flashed on this morning
You on your stomach
My fingers deep
Sampling your wetness

None of these need water

Though I may need to sample you more
To see your need
So I’ve made an appointment
For you to be closely examined
Tomorrow after work in my sanctuary
In the Church of Not Quite So Much Pain & Suffering

~ ~ ~