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GRANNYLUST POEMS
(version 2)
1.
Our clits and tits and pricks get
trapped in our net legs and body stockings,
hair and makeup, fuck, fuck, fuck, our
Garden-of-Sucks-Eden, one orgasm after
another like endless highs, until all we want to
do is sleep, sleep, sleep, nor more apples of
anything at all.
2.
Getting too old for this, man, you and
all your little Andean "drink this, eat
this" stuff turing into a shaman prick-
tit high as high as Mount Apu Inca,
semen all over the rivers and the sea,
and then down under the under, sun black,
prick dead, only still your hands, tits, clit
want more.
3.
You, overnight at the hospital again (on call),
and me just me-ing/meowing around, all the
coke in the world, all the net legs and tits with
walrus-tusk nipples, won't make Seņor Prickshit
rise again until you bring your mouth and magic
hands and holes back home.
4.
Black halos around our moon after hours of
olympic humping, worn thin, but never enough,
the two of us merge into one bi-sex-super-
night-weirdo, two persons in one being as
the holy Spirit of Night hovers toward us,
hungry for our juices.
5.
Playing my flate or playing my
prick-tits, a little onanistic,
time alone, I think, until
Garden-of-Eden-turned-upside-
down YOU slithers in again
and for a couple more infinities
wants to play, play, play.
Hugh Fox
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