Ode to Scutty’s Buns Revisited

mister scutty.

buns.

mine eyes take to sea
draped in black damask

ask, upon what merit

to what do i owe
thy fine mask of sinew

in shadowed remorse
i lay vexed

exquisite.

a freedom formed
born of toilsome task
such winsome,
this ass

grasping in folly
i falter, forlorn
this finest of fannies
far more than fixed eye
could e’er hold candle to

sand doth sift
and so shifts time

o buns of golden mote
i dote on this fire
to hold what is naught
but a phantom fandango
so taut with transgressions
in visions foretold

foreboding alabaster sheath
aglow
no, asunder
plundering depths
taste tears of sallowed vitae

were strength as a flower
this truth, seed and all
should fall as the hour
when tower doth beckon

thy buns!
thy buns!

o scutty!
skyward flesh effused
obfuscated realms of sordid sanctity

below is a shifting
uplift yea!
uplifting

muted trepidation
threat or compliance

lo, golden buns of stardust waver

o scutty!
buns that scintillate liquescent
‘neath the moonlight’s tremble

in cries of haute

wielding scepter

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

17 thoughts on “Ode to Scutty’s Buns Revisited”

        1. lol he’s kinda lanky at 6’4″ and honestly he claims to have none. I have never seen them. They simply breathed life into the chasm of my soul on a balmy windswept dusk of an endless desert road to nowhere.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. Breathtaking imagery to be sure. I meant your line “They simply breathed life into the chasm of my soul on a balmy windswept dusk of an endless desert road to nowhere” but I suspect that ANYTHING I say right now is going to sound like a double entrendre. BTW, I loaded two files for you via Facebook chat/Messenger

            Liked by 1 person

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