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Shepherd
by Philip F De Pinto
there is no straight jacket
for one inanely in love
such insanity must ever range free
as the five fingers of one's hand
would mimic a herd of sheep
as think themselves at liberty
to graze up a girl's sweater
shoot down nape
to nibble at stays as would loose two -
pinioned since birth neath " C " cups
as beg release to squeeze their cream
into the cistern of his dream
although it appears sinful on the shepherd's part
to permit such sheep to graze
still it is as good as any art form
not outer the norm to do at drive ins
after all - the shepherd is her baby
and would suckle upon the pair
as would dare flank his head - as in a vice
squeeze and crush the melon of his desire into sapphire
spew the pits into the lake - saddled with a sun at low noon
while he watches from the dock
miring the double opus of you making waves
as many waves as it takes to induce a spell
until he suckles again upon your sweet endeavor
his heart will race as if it were in the running at LeMans
retire from love's sweeping stake
and take on a deep freeze
upon which a moon will set down its skates and figure eight
slam on its brakes and send crystals into the air
as make two brown mallards appear ghostly white at swans
01/20/2017 Posted on 01/20/2017
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 01/21/17 at 03:14 PM Very nicely done Philip! |
| Posted by Elizabeth Shaw on 01/22/17 at 09:09 PM mon shepherd cheri, you weave words more beautiful than Lalique art glass, more you tame them in subtlety - a flirtatious dance, this evokes in me happiness and sadness all at once... thank you for keeping on |
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