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Like a Virgin
at nights (and mornings)
every Slice of day in between
except the 3 a.m. death hours
his part so tirelessly rehearsed
he knows this Epic line so well
could say it in his sleep, except doesn't anymore
shakey baby
shakes me all up
got a Magnet there
between her plush lips
pulls deep from my pores
silvEr-lined sweat
breaks down my organs
draws them out in drops
along my body
and maybe stilleto'd legs
melt me dowN
he needs a monochrome audience
just waiting for a dim lit stage
to scream that line
echoes off the flesh theatre walls
to momentous, wet applause
and orgasmic appreciation from the sighing crowd
semen, m'dear. i am enjoying the hidden messages/alliteration/double entendres that you've been employing as of late in order to make a poem more readable and causes one to search for meaning. is it intentional, or are you unconsciously growing? (i misspelled 'growning' as 'groaning'; perhaps i should have left it there.)
the end.