A Venice sea
and sickly breeze
that sails between
a sinful siege

of private footage
and sinful clocks
a beggars lunch
tucked into socks

and when alone
retrieve the lunch
cook it up
spoon, flame, crunch.

Sweat now drips
lip to lip
as thighs quiver
beneath bulging hips

that once formed
the coveted hourglass
and rolled into
a beautiful ass.

Though nothing's left
of former form
they still flock
keeping her warm

And mountains sink
and seas disappear
yet she's here
she's still there.

05/15/2014