Embers

The social wheel keeps turning: waxing is in vogue
so these are easy times to praise the smooth;
but we belong here too, we are human to the core…

Individuals.

We are different, even from the different:
a minority, scattered on the littoral
beyond the margins of the pale…

Incongruous?

Defiant in our pride, we flaunt our adult bodies:
our fineries, our primal coverings of hair,
as we dress to draw desire, in gorgeous lingerie…

Attraction!

During darker nights, my pelt will heat my blood
while restless dreams – of stroking yours, my dear –
fuel embers into flames; of lust, for nature’s way… 

Unveiled.

Too long in the sauna

A tart without a heart, worn dry, weighed down by drag;
who claims to be professional, but is bereft
of honesty, or any whore’s pretence.  A denizen
of sauna rooms, crawled briefly from the sleaze
that festers, nsa, among darker corners;
thinking that the light would help…

A slut who flaunts their shrivelled clit
and claims their arse is tight;  who talks and talks
of sex and pops, and throngs of sordid meets…
They look convincing at first pass – but artifice is thin:
that wilting skin is rough, the jaw too strong, their eyes hollow
like an excuse, a disappointment in a dress…

Complacency (part 2)

The olde worlde manne buffed up his puff
and spoke, mellifluously, but in a strangled voice
that whistled in his breath, through classic English teeth
not-quite-concealed below his baccy ‘tache…

“I voted to turn back the clock.  Ourselves alone,
the insular, in poverty, you know…   And now
I’m in the writers’ group!  We’re such a cosy clique
which meets together, every other week, 
to stroke ourselves, to pat each other on the cheek;
to share some jokes (that no-one else can know!)
and tell our friends how really, jolly nice we are…

“I know that strangers do take part, sometimes;
but I’ve devised a cunning plan! Haha!
It will be barratry (albeit smartly dressed):
we’ll hike the sub, we’ll bundle things
they never need or use, to make it plain
outsiders are not welcome here.
Three hundred percent!   That should do the trick!!  Haha!

And look here, don’t you fret your pretty heads: 
I know we once were 50, and now we’re only ten;
but why should that matter?!   Even if the bulkheads fail
and we should drift our ship aground, a wreck
will bring us respite, from creation’s toil and bite…
My dears!  Whatever might be wrong with that? 
It is the English way, you know.   Haha haha!”

Complacency (part 1)

The olde worlde manne buffed up his puff
and spoke, mellifluously, but in a strangled voice
that whistled in his breath, through classic English teeth
not-quite-concealed below his baccy ‘tache…

“You know, I marinade my ego in my creative juice
(as someone may have said, in 1922);
I am a captain in the upper middle class –
haute bourgeoisie, by way of Tuscany –
my social life’s in rugby, the way it used to be,
and I’m the colonel of my family, haha!
although I can’t see past my elbow or, you know…
What’s that you say?  The seat of my pants?  Is on fire?!

“I used to be at Lloyd’s, haha, back in the day,
the good old days, when insiders had all the luck
and outside Names would leave their shirts behind;
that’s back before the Yankees came, of course,
and corporates (they’re much the same)
with rules and plans and oversight, with outsiders
who knew the score, and counted beans;
and so that game was up. Though not before…

“Ah. But. I mustn’t tell you that.  Haha!
So I took refuge in the Clubs, where yesterday was still in place 
and if you closed one eye, and squinted hard enough,
you’d see the shade of dear old Vic:
the Empress’ portrait on the wall, gazing on her world,
presiding, impotent, bereft, decked in her widow’s weeds;
as good old chaps like me showed moneyed foreigners
how things were done round here.   Haha…