Nothing Against It
I’ve really got nothing against any girl on girl.
Teasing open your final frontiers rather appeals
alongside peeling black packs of satin sheets,
gusset crackling, hook bucked elastic, pinky meat
snagged between red lace straps and stiletto heels:
Well, anyone might be tempted to give it a whirl.
Whichever side up, girl, I could care little or less,
whether you’re sporting moist drainpipes or dress.
Shattered silent amongst bulldozed fuss
grey clinkered steelworks shedding rust.
You say you’re gay? Well get in there, young man.
Some proud green capered, quivered rubbing hood
Sherwood Forest polished frolics makes me swell.
Tonguing sticky salt from an overfished wishing well,
I’ll bang tambours. Build rainbow floats, tug wood,
strut a runway, catch your eye and pout when I can.
Doesn’t bother me whether you all swim in spit,
hoof like prancing show ponies, slash or submit.
How quietly the blue stab bloodied blade
twists deep in our flesh to soft persuade.
Look both ways and swing the mood, trust me
when I say I know of hot breathing woman’s dress
silk soft on bare flesh. The lure of forbidden frock
caught out, dark exposed and hard smacked shock.
I get your throbbing need to expel sticky mess
of imprisoned seed, far flung in urgent need.
Get on with it, decide or don’t. Publish, be damned
if you do or if you won’t, butt out, fold your hand.
Statesmen surf the oceans of empty noise
blue-bellied all the girls, red-eyed the boys.
Born in the wrong body; take mine, I hardly use it,
while age gets on my withering tits these days,
this neglected shotgun pumping its non-action
bullets into rioting sheets for mere distraction.
I’ll poster the deed, parade you on every stage,
tinder spark lurid limelight and reoutfit any misfit.
These tedious rehearsals have been fit to print
since the day Victor dipped his black nib in ink.
Your years will pass insensible to cheating
and bloated wolves who gloat at the bleating.
You caught yourself wanting to blush my cheeks
in shades confused? Damp patches on panties blue,
ask for jobs in lip-gloss application? Well, me too.
Bounce high, blow those whistles, wave streamers,
it’s a free world for ravers and deaf screamers
after all; go have yourself two balls, let’s screw
us rigid without fear, repression or good grief.
Beat breasts, cry havoc let slip the tadpoles of relief.
Then spurt your little liquid into two-ply tissue:
For I’ve nothing against it and neither have you.