from The Martini Mansion by Brian Waniewski


In his underwear I not even tent that tricky twitch—
Flex & feline stretched the tempter takes his time
O his mouth goes Y bold arms high he arches out

Have I in each character found some friction once
Or not contènt in a leg forsook for his costly scent
A whiff of green dungs the ding-dongs ride anon

And now will I have the highest heaven or naught
Soon-to-be memento mori—my sad staff do stay
Your way interrogate, speak, speak to love harsh-

Ly till honeyed bends before him it be not refused
Rosy-cheeked the cherub he hilt-highs then will it
Melt and me stand where had emptied out his eye

For him I wonder do I want so dumbly once more
Fawns my heel to lick the laurels hence for roses
If only were I he & he me would I ask how much