HIS COY TOY (a modern-day take on Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress.")

Friday Poetry Fest

Poetry Picnic

d'Verse Poet's Pub

I'm not interested in the official version

of anything

all sanitized and polite

but lacking any kind of soul

and Nietzsche was right

about one thing

you've spent your whole life

trying to keep your base instincts under control

that's not the way I want to roll

anymore

we'll order moon under glass

a little pinch on the ass

and we're on our way

if there's an inner skank

that's present here

I'll thank

you to acknowledge it

over a beer

Oh

would that we could contain our drool

until the third date

then at the crack of the starter's pistol

we'd burst out of the gate

no need to wait

any longer

the requisite number of days having amassed

so you'd feel that you hadn't been cast

in the role of the slut

but that's all a game

such fear of shame

we carry

there's no time to tarry

I know what you're going to say

but hush your mouth

I'm a nomad from the frozen north

poised to explore

your deep south

and yes I've read the official version

that you're not a tart

but I know your heart

wasn't in it

and time is passing by

it's all over in the wink of an eye

would you rather say in the end

you hoarded that

which you had every right to spend?