I Surrender by Leslie Bridges-Kemp So we skipped the light fantastic in the winter of ninety-eight, and lyrically planted Eskimo kisses upon the rotund cheeks of fat Buddha babies, pressing the palms of frustrated widows of the late Mr. Townsend, while pledging our allegiance to the prodigy he begat. Seldom if ever did we cry, or allow our artistic vision to wearily behold the obese women in russet who coarsely professed the right to curse the innocent dawn, or to obliquely enter into a cathedral of melted gold, and eloquently endowed with sequins to repent and confess the last as first. I, Leslie, do take thee, Immanuel, to be my beloved saviour on this quiet eve of a Mother's Day weekend, and give utterance anew to the anointed, tender yoke that is easy and a burden that is light upon my shoulders in all I conceive as natural and right tonight, and to your invitation to enter into eternity, I surrender. *** |
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