Duet

Duet

I want a romance that’s not trite

yet filled with rights

Mister, do you prefer lacy under-things?

Or perhaps knee-high stockings?

Oh how I wish I were a man –

I would very much like to demand.

The world’s filled with perfections

All the hidden Picassos in alleyways

Making their mark on empty prints.

Yet, nothing is still quite

as voluptuous as a woman.

I think of sharp stilettos

stomping on starched suits.

Aye –

where is the woman I seek?

Is she there pining by the moon,

or piping her own tune?

Is there something going on

in this moribund cartoon?

I’m waiting for the moon

to give me a boon. I want something

fantastic, a tad magnetic.

Honey, when I drift down the doorways

Like a ghost on cartwheels,

I’m looking for the right one.

I want to set the tone

and sweep her off her feet.

By God, give me a manly image,

For my own dark Triad.

God, at night I sleep

waiting for the next trip.

Piles of sculpted imagery rise –

their whispers touch me

so sporadic, so spastic,

a tad magnetic.

Give me a romance that’s not trite

Yet filled with rights.

Lord, at night in my lair I lie –

I begin weaving a lie:

Eyes lips nose cheeks hair

so luscious like a mare.

I want something domestic,

Yet a tad fantastic.

Give me a romance that’s not trite

Yet filled with rights.