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I have wanted this
More than
The barren hag
Craved
The feel of sucking lips
On the nipples of her wilted,
Virgin breasts.
Wanting,
My nerves have rippled
Like the ired pond
Protesting
The forceful entry
Of Mr. Frog
Leaping into its waters.
Have I not prayed
Even as sin
Dilutes my tottering faith;
But water and kerosene
Shall give the stove no flame,
Though the match
Be willing.
Be willing.
So here I stand,
Leftover
Of the feast of failure.
All I have left
Are salty pears
Squeezed from the depths
Of wilted hope.
