Saturday, February 18, 2012

Bitch in Heat: Redux



image by Reena Walkling

Bitch in Heat

Albatross, what gorgeous flotsam is this
held tenderly in your golden beak,
deposited sweetly, swiftly, without guile
center stage amid male musk?

It appears to be an Alpine wild flower
with small breast blossoms
and a wasp waist, with nine bracelets
chiming along a smooth thin wrist
first peeking out of voluminous paisley sleeves,
then clanking like metal Lionel box cars,

who has picked me to court, her minty breath
caressing the bulge of my neck, swirling
her long black locks into curly tangles
over my blue collar as her hot tongue
strums an ear lobe before nibbling it,
my own cortigiana onesta providing
complex coitus on a red cushion,
steaming sexual gymnastics from
a hazel-eyed vixen, who hums like
a tropical fan while her hips and lips
steer the lust craft into hyper-drive,
dragging me into a ball-busting ride
in her orgasmatron, pleasure bound
for the “flower and willow world”,
tearing at the fabric of propriety,
like a lusty mongoose sucking dead fingers
to the bone, man,

Connected, you dig, but not simply whole,
more fragmented in a Monet mode,
vibrant swirling of dot matrix, drenched deep
in the sensuous sins of many colors,
frightening, dude, cliff diving blindfolded,
fire walking, blade sucking, sharing
the blue sugar cube tongue to tongue,
accompanied by the chorus of a million screams
thrust out from the tube every hour,
preventing me from detecting who
the hell she actually was, cradled
again in that musky brown beak,
a swallowed thing that still breathes
that I could kiss without lips,
tasting vanilla, pepper, and thick cream
in the folds of my inner cheek;
startled by a flurrious implosion
as she flew without wings to Atlantis,
and all in Christ’s world I could do
was stand mute and erect watching
her pink contrail dissipate into husky mist,
and wait patiently for my own feathers
to sprout peacock proud.,

Glenn Buttkus

May 2011

Listed as #30 over on Magpie Tales 67
Also listed as #6 over at dVerse Poets-Poetics

Would you like the Author to read this poem to you?

8 comments:

Brian Miller said...

dang enchanting man...love the sensuality through the middle...and the risk as well in the blade sucking etc...and ultimate awe in just watching her in the end unable to do much else...nicely played man...happy saturday to you!

Laurie Kolp said...

Yes, the middle was quite hot. I see the elements of a Monet painting, too. Oh, and we chose the same pic.

S.E. Ingraham said...

Whoa - I loved this! I actually listened to it after I read it to make sure it wasn't quite as Hunter S Thompson-ish as it first appeared (it wasn't) but it has its moments ... the metaphoric things you did for pelican love ... steamy to say the least ... I see Monet but also shades of Dali here and there ...

Marbles in My Pocket said...

And then the redneck said: I don't see none a that stuff, but this is one fine, hot poem! Dang nice!
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2012/02/18/the-last-watch/

Claudia said...

oh my goodness..what a dance...sensual and enchanting..love the fragmented Monet mode and the vanilla and pepper...hmmmmm...nice

Dave King said...

I enjoyed this, the way it ranged far and wide. Ambitious and successful.

Mama Zen said...

Wow. Absolutely wow.

zongrik said...

this was my favorite part:

dragging me into a ball-busting ride
in her orgasmatron, pleasure bound