Mons Veneris [poem]
[A Valentine’s Day poem for the mystery
lover who will one day kiss my world]
There is a place where particles
of any kind of mine can flow
explode unload implode feel
free to fulminate ferociously
upon and under over through
vermillion skies + cobalt blue
between the skin of me and
any yearning she who innerly
belongs with all her positrons
between my silken sheets.
And thus I fall to smaller than a
muon smashed to smithereens
while every quarkful molecule
within me keens for countless
unexpressed and indiscreetful
dreams which long to show
the petal-richness havens of
their full unfrozened flowers
flowing every atom bursting
out through hidden pristine
protoplasm’s graphic hidden
patterns crazed expression
glazed impressionistic heart
of all I sensolutely mutely am
Lost in vastful spaces radiantly
emanating nothing wasted
cradled by the taste of hazy
everglades I crave for deeper
secrets in the hidden crevice
parts of moistly maidenhead
where flowers never throve
before yet here I must bow
down in worship tearingly
(no fear) adore and scrape the
floor as subjects did in days
described as yore when love
and adulation were the spark
and knights had power and
grace and ladyes strong had
DREAMDEEP as a watermark
I kiss her feathered feet
and work my way up to the
centre of her gifting bliss
and sigh out singing kisses
through her mons veneris
Death’s faces rave in many
surging fadeless shapes but
none more meltingly than
when it strikes or-gas-mikly
or dynamites the fabricess
un-fran-tikly another suitcase
longing bombadeering fantasy
ignites down burning spermly
passageways and all erupting
pyrotechnic blazely flashing
meteorite panache displays
I fall onto my callused knees
which rub the earth in praise
of mister-reaze which please
and thankyou afterglowing
nowly knowing nothing but
the state I’m in
that’s merge to one
that’s where does she begin
or me become
an ending
in her luscious melody
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 