poetry about love
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Love is fried chicken you’re never certain – follow the rules of etiquette… …or just dive in, use your fingers savory satisfying finger-lickin’ chew-on-bone yummy, messy heart-healthy artery clogging oh-so-tasty Love is fried chicken but when all is said and done just what do you do with the gnawed on bones? – Mark Lucker Read more
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After some ongoing, sad-eyed cajoling you agreed to a Friday night date night not of your choosing or comprehension posing for nervous artist and sketch pad you acquiesced to your best black pumps, resolute: no clenching of rose in teeth – concession gladly made by your love-struck middle-aged, middle-class, modicum talent Renoir with shaky charcoal Read more
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Summer is when you most think of her, want her hot, sultry, at times stifling melting into yourself, sweat trickles into places that spark imagination, irritate, perturb undeniably sensual, cursable, so memorably bemusing she will return, as always, the bittersweet equinox of her Read more
Ponderable polemics, poetic 