For after all that grenadine, the smoothing
of such aged skin, should perhaps be left
til noon? Recline yourself, be undine –

I’d hate to see you burnt-bald again.
Such faux cancerous intensity was hard
to bear; the charity events and money

Raised aside, the holiday in Cuba the
copious opium, did nothing for my guilt
complex ‘cept hoist it to the hilt. Still

Love is love as love is lost and I quite
captured, wilt, into the throng of what is
wrong and what isn’t absolutely right.

I like the poem, Philip. I don't know much about waxing, a little about waning. Thanks for the contribution.

amo,

Peter

Fuck, this is the best thing I've seen on here for...ever

I love you Larkinabout, can i have your babies?

probably

Absolute crap with no message, meaning, or purpose in existance.

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 09/21/2009 09:44PM by Merc.

I think you'll find it's "existence" Merc, but then, you don't strike me as an existential kind of guy!

As for your comment I'd say:

Probably.

Ta
K

but i'm a much better misspeller