So many metaphors for penis
slithering about in vagina –
plosive inside that vibrating V–
but I tell it as it comes.
My rose appreciates a perfect fit
and fortunately I am it.
We make amore until satiated
then slip into Eden for ripe apples
to renew our strength, let’s say.
Our ever-faithful accomplice,
Snakette, keeps watch in case
Mister Moody shows and blows
up because he still thinks he owns
real estate. Not been seen for awhile
so he may have died of old rage.
Well, he would, wouldn’t he?
Totally alone since he strangled
every hot goddess who could have
relieved him of his dammed energy.
But that’s just history whereas
my love and I are something else.
Allan Lake is a poet, originally from Allover, Canada, who now writes in Allover, Australia. Coincidence. His latest collection, published by Ginninderra Press, “My Photos of Sicily” contains no photos, only poems.