by Glen Martin Fitch
I'm writing
with carnations at my side.
On one pinked, ruby rim
I press my lips.
Its musky scent
I suck in gentle sips.
Have I some rule
of tact or taste defied?
The intimate
is earned through modesty.
Who breaks
a strict taboo or sacred rite?
One person's dread's
another one's delight.
Will you explore
forbidden realms with me
with blushing cheeks
on tablecloth or sheet?
I seek to taste and feed
illicit bliss.
Forgive me
if I'm forward, indiscreet.
Please don't deny me.
You will be remiss to bar me
from the privilege
just to kiss the purple bud
you're pressing to your seat.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011