Ode to Nicolaus-of-the-Sun

thy faintest contour
stole away
my consciousness of mind

the gods had draped me
in a realm
of excess exquisite

chests indulged
of selenite did slough
with bare refulgency

merging strikes
barbaric heaving

maleness
manacled in chainmail

criminal
didst cup constrictive

summoned heat
from sweetened friction

visceral
precipitant

banded strands
stretched tenuously
strung with statuesque erecting

flesh of cryptid cusp
and blustered hue
imbrued from brusque abrade

strapping
with a sturdiness
to beckon vice
from days of yore

swore studly forms
of ardent study
hours long and arduous

Sir Nicolaus! i cry
what thoughts besiege
my frail composure

compromised by rippled
thew with pulse of potent impose

ecstasy encompassing
his sexton arm’s saxon embrace

brandishing a brawn
to render
every knave his pawn of privy

lash thy leather-laden fury
leash mine impure soul
with haste!

douse me
in thy verse
triumphant

trenchant
as the lunar blade

bathing in thy
breathless inquest

trouncing
like a bison herd
at the hour
of forbidden dusk

hoarding hesitation
forming sedulous
below

shouldst thy barren breast
e’er hover
skies of supple
silk embed

the flames of brooding
wouldst impend
with trilling prod
of importune

like surging wells
on crescent shores
imploring swords
of sowed release

lonesome rogues
dealt swift
a sweltered
sun of melting
auric fleece

bound like mured barbarians
gone mad
with torturous vexation

strident thrusts
of jutting bulge
and urgent bender
banned by lawmen

turgid girth swoons
swathing growth
doth ghastly
fill tumescent eye

pinning this supine
confliction
to a bed of fallow dross

O my precious Nicolaus

let us not fall
remiss

like pistils
sifted into dusted dreams
of lust lamented

let us now succumb
to rubble
amid subtle
swells combusting

~fini~

Fancy Free

When life doth air too serious
So weary I become
My notions turn nefarious
To whimsy, I succumb

I then proceed to longeth p’ruse
My Frederick’s catalogue
To sate my need for silken rouge
And frilly lace corsage

Of course they must be crotchless
Lest I err a thoughtless cad
And should I dare wend topless
Throw some pasties in the bag

With preference for tassels
‘Tis a hassle otherwise
I might start feeling sassy
Thus, such foresight would suffice

Ne’er I display such imprudence
Hence, I buy in bulk
For countless corsets have i torn
asunder with mine hulk

As proven on the eve
I wast locked out of mine own house
And all the poor old maidens
Swooned as if they’d seen a mouse!

Did grant, I may stand
Two inches just over six feet tall
With brawny build and buns that filleth
Panties with a sprawl

Which tend to draw the ire
Of the gentry’s night patrol
Who seem to never tire
Of cruising past me ever slow

Why then, would anyone
Blame a lad for simply trying
Were I to say I did not look
Hawt in lace I’d be lying!

And thou knowest quite well
This spectacle sings flourishing
Within the theater of thy mind
Where it is now showing

For none dare intermit
The thought of such a rogue delight
Frolicking in flowery peignoirs
All throughout the night

[image credit: Louis Wain]