PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Waterstop is scheduled, at Monkeytree Station.  The

locomotive begins to slow, then to resist the

forward motion of the coupled coaches it has been

pulling; old brakes squeal, connectors crash together as the

train sides on to the spur, then to the waiting water tower.

Dismal desolation dominates all horizons and dimensions that

somehow center on the delapidated depot that is

Monkeytree Station---like a haunted site from the

seepage of sepia out of a silent movie eleven decades agp.

Yet, as you step down to the platform, you find your lover---

long-haired, shirtless, clad in baggy beige cargos, barefoot.

He leads you to an occluded corner; there you nuzzle the

cords of his muscuar neck with your eager kisses, as the

whistle shrieks to announce departure, but the profusion of

his sweetness is released to you, achieving splashdown,  in the

exquisite and erotic vivification

coming, through you and your lover, into Monkeytree Station.

J-Called

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