Poetic Interlude XVIII

Re-Run

As cocky grins push back my cheeks
And hands grope for – a pen,
I recollect the recent weeks:
I am in love, again.

Another boy eclipsed my sense;
My judgement fled before his face.
I stare, and with intent intense,
My pulse and pining interlace.

I could declare him peerless, true,
Or hymn his lips and teeth and eyes.
Let perjured poetry ensue!
I’ll sing him all the sweetest lies.

I am no cooing turtle-dove;
I swore that I’d stay cold, and coy.
I hate that I’m in love with Love!
Same old troubles, different boy.

The River

Champagne, cream, and blood-red rose:
All marks of corporate greed;
I’ll knock you, lad, flat on your back –
I need to taste your seed.
Romance may suffice for some,
Born on assembly line,
But mine is fierce and wild Love,
Drunk on river-wine.

Standardizing charm and grace;
Plastic, die-cut beauty.
Freeborn forest loneliness
Accepted (out of duty) –
Some sing in praise of Concrete Jove,
Hymn Circuitry sublime,
But mine are nymphs of field and grove,
Drunk on river-wine.

Love is more than motorcars
And imagery of Venus;
Love is soul caressing soul,
And nothing left between us.
Ancient, then, I name the bond,
And thus, convention, slaughter:
Let me love whoe’er I will,
Drunk on river-water.

©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved

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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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