For bitten lips and subtle slips of swollen tongues, Are solaced by oil and wine, and by soil and loam, Form furrows and thighs where he lies as she pines...

MIDLAND, 15 May 2010
by D.C. Quillan Stone

With torrid desire but anon a sordid goddamn fire
Sunk in mire cooled lusciously, upsurges in skirt
Off shirt then lurches, callously on malicious knees
Bent at ease so to pitch to tease rather to please
Shit, the world enlarges and by it, his largesse fits
Within terse stenches of dung piles and curt curses
As his brain immerses into inebriation’s oblivion
Scintillation eludes, please excuse the constipation
Asphyxiation of academism, enervation of paroxysm
Lost `tween hinterland and heartland, the awry line
Mass straddled by misguided others spuriously wise
Attacking laissez faire due to lacking a savoir-faire
Mob-petitioning the theologians as well politicians
While positioning flags over hills mid fuckin’ dales
Situated akin to defend, end-to-end, with dull hones
Masturbating daggers and dirks along shifting silt
Where arrogant men tilt withstanding jigs and gigs
Yet contrary is passion’s estuary of quietus’ screams
The silent resonance within orbs, loins, and mouths
Defining analogies and metaphors due each quiver
(Such struggle for givers and much tussle for takers)
Though the yeas for nays rouse her merited frigidity
As his reserved rigidity, their timidity, softly storm
For bitten lips and subtle slips of swollen tongues
Are solaced by oil and wine, and by soil and loam
Form furrows and thighs where he lies as she pines

www.DCQuillanStone.com / www.CafePerQ.com