All things are not what they seem to be at first sight. . .
at her friend's party to which she was invited
to survey all possibilities that might interest her
and Adonis walked in, perambulated about
as if he were the centerpiece
and most all eyes fell upon his countenance
a visage that would appeal to most
who dared to dream they could attract a prince
and he strode about with suavity, assurance
that someone for the night would fall in love with him
and he was still accustomed to it, because they usually did
because he fit the bill – tall, dark, and handsome, too.
. . . and tall he was, but not too much, just six feet, two
and weight, ahh, well nice distribution, waist thirty-two
and weight, bulged pecs, tight abs, 100 kilo frame
spread nicely figured mass without a name.
. . .she looked with lust at him, this centerpiece
and quivered from her hips to lips with burst of libido
and pubic crest crescendoed with cadenza cadence
capping her concerto his instrument in her mind.
Then he looked out among adoring peers
to catch those loving looks that would succumb
to passive glances, no hope to acquiesce
to even momentary fifteen seconds of delight
as he would choose someone to kiss tonight
like Bye, Bye, Birdie in those days of old –
she had no chance, she thought, to be his prize –
a trophy date, so hot – yet, he, so cold.
And all the females parted as waves of seas once had
phantasmagoric image approaching damsel, lass
who least expected him to come, and come he did
his eyes locked on her breasts and hands upon her. . .
"Wait!"she shouted in her mind, but nothing passed her lips
as his just overwhelmed her and took her breath away
and just for fun, he poked his wriggling tongue
so not a sound she uttered, the "No!"she could not say.
For lust is not an invitation
that any male can take
as license to unleash his lust,
at least not in this way
to poach his helpless prey
as Cupid says he must
unless she says he may.
At last, she learned some lessons, new
about herself and men –
that she had once suspected
and knew just now and then
that once they are familiar
become bromidic, change,
just another common male,
like home, home on the range.
She felt that lizard kiss he gave
she tightly in his arms
embraced full facing forceful form
he pressed against her loins
with subtle grinding, felt him rise
and liquidly anoint
her unsuspecting writhing self
with his – uuhh – pencil point?
Too curious she reached so low
to feel what stirred from sleep
and swept her hand across below
and felt that muscle leap.
She pulled away to let Adonis know
she was his conquest not at all,
no further need to go.
She gave her name, some pseudonym
she chose what came to mind
left stammering, him, uhh,
Oscar Meyer, mine
She left him standing still behind.
She wheeled with pride back to her friends
where waited they with glee
confessing with her knowing smile
"This Oscar's not for me."
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 921 times
Written on 2007-04-27 at 00:57
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Ode to an Oscar Meyer's Weeny
. . . and she continued looking over the crowdat her friend's party to which she was invited
to survey all possibilities that might interest her
and Adonis walked in, perambulated about
as if he were the centerpiece
and most all eyes fell upon his countenance
a visage that would appeal to most
who dared to dream they could attract a prince
and he strode about with suavity, assurance
that someone for the night would fall in love with him
and he was still accustomed to it, because they usually did
because he fit the bill – tall, dark, and handsome, too.
. . . and tall he was, but not too much, just six feet, two
and weight, ahh, well nice distribution, waist thirty-two
and weight, bulged pecs, tight abs, 100 kilo frame
spread nicely figured mass without a name.
. . .she looked with lust at him, this centerpiece
and quivered from her hips to lips with burst of libido
and pubic crest crescendoed with cadenza cadence
capping her concerto his instrument in her mind.
Then he looked out among adoring peers
to catch those loving looks that would succumb
to passive glances, no hope to acquiesce
to even momentary fifteen seconds of delight
as he would choose someone to kiss tonight
like Bye, Bye, Birdie in those days of old –
she had no chance, she thought, to be his prize –
a trophy date, so hot – yet, he, so cold.
And all the females parted as waves of seas once had
phantasmagoric image approaching damsel, lass
who least expected him to come, and come he did
his eyes locked on her breasts and hands upon her. . .
"Wait!"she shouted in her mind, but nothing passed her lips
as his just overwhelmed her and took her breath away
and just for fun, he poked his wriggling tongue
so not a sound she uttered, the "No!"she could not say.
For lust is not an invitation
that any male can take
as license to unleash his lust,
at least not in this way
to poach his helpless prey
as Cupid says he must
unless she says he may.
At last, she learned some lessons, new
about herself and men –
that she had once suspected
and knew just now and then
that once they are familiar
become bromidic, change,
just another common male,
like home, home on the range.
She felt that lizard kiss he gave
she tightly in his arms
embraced full facing forceful form
he pressed against her loins
with subtle grinding, felt him rise
and liquidly anoint
her unsuspecting writhing self
with his – uuhh – pencil point?
Too curious she reached so low
to feel what stirred from sleep
and swept her hand across below
and felt that muscle leap.
She pulled away to let Adonis know
she was his conquest not at all,
no further need to go.
She gave her name, some pseudonym
she chose what came to mind
left stammering, him, uhh,
Oscar Meyer, mine
She left him standing still behind.
She wheeled with pride back to her friends
where waited they with glee
confessing with her knowing smile
"This Oscar's not for me."
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 921 times
Written on 2007-04-27 at 00:57
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
