THE OLDEST PROFESSION
Sluttish senses strut the streets and strumpet,
Soliciting, embracing nonsense notions,
Flirting with salacious crude emotions,
When shall back-pack mind cease to trumpet?
Dressed up in opinions, fashion's crumpet,
Vague assertions, intellectual potions,
Intoxicating theorems, formulations.
How to end this harlotry? Best dump it!
Display the wonder of your radiant form,
Your golden tresses, moon-lit eyes of night;
Overwhelm my mind, then service I'll perform;
Stop lurking in the gloom, enter into light.
Let me glimpse the glory of your aura, bright.
Calm often follows tumult of the storm.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.