poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

I wished all the mild days of middle March
This special year, your blond good-nature might
(Lady) admit—kicking abruptly tight
With will and affection down your breast like starch—
Me to your story, in Spring, and stretch, and arch.
But who not flanks the wells of uncanny light
Sudden in bright sand towering? A bone sunned white.
Considering travellers bypass these and parch.

This came to less yes than an ice cream cone
Let stand... though still my sense of it is brisk:
Blond silky cream, sweet cold, aches: a door shut.
Errors of order! Luck lies with the bone,
Who rushed (and rests) to meet your small mouth, risk
Your teeth irregular and passionate.


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 2 Dec 2008 3:50 AM | Viewed: 1684 times

PoetryNotes™ Analysis

A custom PoetryNotes™ eBook may be ordered for this poem. Get help with your homework - delivered in 5-6 days.

For more information...