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SANTA'S LAP DANCE
Folder:
whole lotta other stuff
this year she’s been good whirl away silhouette begin to dance.
shadows sometimes charm with magic, follow her sideways glance.
ships’ passing in the night, fate is the massive contraption so curious.
mysteries hold their power because they are mysterious.
perhaps, the moon reflected on snow where meanings are conspicuously absent.
through the veil, staring back is some of that old red magic content...
she could tantalize like silk fingers from heaven itself.
uncovered waiting now secreted in musk was the great horned elf.
cathedral bells ring while some fear the toll.
“petty prayers for the Father, Son, & Holy Ghost,” she said.
it was just another lingering, assessment against the cold.
”prayers are for spirits dread”; she was not dead and reached for him instead.
Before dawn, the jolly lays in her den.
he would be on time, she'll take her turn over and over again.
he will tease; she is licking her lips needing to please.
her violet eyes and other assorted parts of her body taken with ease.
his truss of stone swells and toils with prose.
need dwells he dares to taste what she bestows.
in repetitive syllables address and flow like a hose.
now he will tattoo her heart with his velvety red rose.
like a fast flowing stream, he is an alluvial cone.
this night her slam poetry alone was a primordial moan.
