12 Jan. 00

 

 

WALRUS LOVER

 

 

 

Your golden eyes

They were for no other

Your seemingly ornery ways

They were just a cover

For the sexual frustration

You felt

Because we could not be together.

 

Your baculum erected member

You caressed with a absent minded

Flipper

Staring at me all the while

Informing your intended

You press against the glass

Your rich clay - brown face

Your mustache and vibrissae

Crushed

Filling me with heat

Despite the cold

From temperature and distance

Eliciting our groans of regret

It could have been perfect.

 

A fine specimen

Of your kind

Tanked for the people

To laugh, smile, point, gesture

I catch your eyes

Your body's interest

The crowd notices

And comments with naivety

"He likes you"

"Yes", I smile

With none of their innocence.

 

 

By

 

WOLFEN