Cocky Paphian, teeth bared boldly,
savors tastes of comestible booty.
His tactile leer caresses flesh
on Sun sopped promenades.
He struts erect as a rooster,
relishing each coup de foudre.
Cocky Paphian, teeth bared boldly,
savors tastes of comestible booty.
His tactile leer caresses flesh
on Sun sopped promenades.
He struts erect as a rooster,
relishing each coup de foudre.
At his mahogany desk
constructing a standardized test,
calipers dangle from the wall
like lynched relics.
An unconscious numerologist,
he avoids six and embraces seven.
His bookcase to the right
stuffed with titles by
Murray, Attenborough,
and Flynn is dusted
by a servant whose name
he never recalls.
Her dark face
entails an occult
erasure.