The morning
lies again
It’s how the
leaves its kisses

Published in Clear Poetry


Tyrants of the nether regions

The basic problem that I see,
just between you and me,
are the jangle dangles of a man,
some too small to scan,
or of the size that water eyes,
that you and I with flies,
know tickle wickle best in wind,
and yet in cotton they get pinned.
Briefs pull in and up and cup,
trunks chafe thighs and show what’s up
was not as promised from the kiss.
While bikini jockstraps are the miss
they sound, as dangles strangle tight,
and cheeks moon for creepies bite.
Of course Boxers give swing and sway
but ditch them all and go commando I’d say.

Published in Clear Poetry