eiffel tower

here's something thoughtful
artful, as far poetry poses
heart-filled, overflowing with roses
a dozen doesn't do this justice
if you knew discussions, would bloom this us shit
you'd know we mustn't lose us in
the fussing, in the cussing
that seems as if
all the hurtful words, we mean'd that shit
if it weren't for purrs
more pressure for pleasure'd be meaningless
if it weren't for hers
his’s, could not concur
her preening is
delicious, absurd, & devious
catering to our neediness
though midriffs, curves, & cleavage is
suffice, to entice our likes, swipes, & a greedy glimpse
to look back at her ass, then calves, & proceed to wish
if i ask, would her decree be yes
& if it weren't for her, all reasoning blurs
& what occurs in a bleak abyss
is beyond words, but leave it to me to guess

no more, cuffing seasons
no more nothing, stuffed & seasoned
tucked in the oven turned up 400 degrees
aromatically, pleasing my breathing
& no more hugging, squeezing
tender loving, easing my wheezing since
she ain't fucking with me intense
i'm unplugging the tv's with
all my strength & grievances
but i'm not leaving sis
since love, war, smorgasbords, & more
are my four allegiances
or even this
opus, cause a poet's plea, pleases sense
appeasing tense appearances
to pinnacle my point, i write pyramids
clearly where you are's, where i peer in, period
till i hear you sneering, where you been
while SHE'S been in the mirror doing pirouettes
naked with the drapes open, hoping I'M out there again... STILL PEERING IN
in the bushes, soaking, pulling & pushing, smearing the wind
full disclosure, i watch her, with my eyes closed & blindfolded
then compose, the dopest petition ever written
cause you’re the closest glimpse into heaven i’m ever getting
& so rightfully, for shunning another wife to be
however, i’ll be better, since i’d like to be
& since life would be, towering eiffel’y
like, on a double bike we’d be
dressed, like Waldo with baguettes
spilling Pommard Pinot Noir, all over your breast
while having sex, under the stars
on the lawn, of the Champ de’ Mars
to suppress your cant’s & nah’s
till you invest in, NO LESS THAn, yeses

…Yes, i’m entirely yours

eiffel tower

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Red H. Gill