Erotica (without the mess)

This jumbo sized crayon
Does many impressive things
If you take off it’s wrapping
You can make this crayon sing

By sing I mean this crayon
Harbors special mayonnaise
Most anyone can try it
It’s not picky nowadays

It likes to color everywhere
All over hotel walls
It’s often seen just hanging out
With a couple tennis balls

It hangs out in the evenings
And in public swimming pools
But it can’t hang out within 1000 feet
Of elementary schools

I saw her wearing that *revealing attire* and desperately felt my *direct reference to an erection*

When I closed my eyes I imagined we were *long poetic diatribe outlining various positions of coitus, probably also involving an array of makeshift lubricants*

She screamed *expletive, expletive, my name, expletive inappropriate reference to God expletive*

Finally it was too much and I knew I had to make my Dream a reality.

I approached her in the coffee shop I knew she went to every Thursday, as I had been tracking her movements.

I said, “Hey baby... how about we *what would typically follow here is something so unbelievably sexy that its omission is necessary for all readers attempting to approach this work from an unclouded and unbiased perspective. My words have been known to be weapons and this would have been one for the books. Undoubtedly, the readers at home would have been overcome with new and strange emotions- men and women would leave their wives and husbands. No, y’all ain’t ready to read precisely what I said to this girl*,”

She replied, “sure”

Back at my place I put on some *albums clearly intended to set the mood*

I asked if she wanted some *alcohol*

She said, “*expletive* yeah”

When she wasn’t looking, I slipped a *drug sometimes used to incapacitate someone* into her *alcohol*

She slowly drifted off to sleep

I proceeded to *expletive expletive, makeshift lubricants and cowboy hats, video camera, ball gag, machines from
Wish.com*

She didn’t mind at all when she woke up. I had read her right. This girl was a *slang term for adventurous and tenacious female*

I seized the day, Carpe Diem. Someone like this doesn’t come along every day. I worked up the nerve and I asked her. She smiled and nodded yes

That’s how I got my first Blumkin

Cheap Motel

It’s around midnight, and I’m half asleep,
So quiet, so calm, not a single peep,
When through the walls, cheap, paper thin,
I hear muffled sounds, of giggling.

Then a new soundtrack begins,
To steady rhythm of creaking springs,
Soft melody of throaty moans,
Overlaid with breathy tones.

Volume up, tempo builds,
Soon my entire world is filled,
On every side and all around,
With moaning, creaking, thumping sounds.

Then to end their crazy game,
Each screams the other person’s name,
The crescendo is cast, it’s done, it’s spilled,
Again, at last, the night is still.

So quiet, so calm, not a single peep,
Half past midnight, we’re all sound asleep.

Dolls and ballet dancers
Children’s songs and primary colors
Everything under the sun
In the garden of disease

Once roses grew here
But leaves wilt
And fall to the Earth
Sullen, alone
Like me

The thorn in my planter’s thumb
She was the only one
For me
Candice, my Candice
Come home please

Pearl and I had a relationship that could be described
As extraordinary
But me and my drum go back like old school chums
It’s kind of….legendary
 
I was a keen fifteen-year-old looking to fulfill a role
And I found it in a snare I’d care for as if it were a myth
At first, she felt kind of heavy, but I knew I was ready
Pearl was the best drum in the world to perform with
 
I learned my strokes from the folks who played her before
But Pearl would hurl me into long and extensive sessions
I’d twirl my sticks and try different tricks so very diverse
I’d rehearse so hard and be focused it was an obsession
 
With each rudiment I learnt it meant something rousing
The girls admired us in our Pearls as the section got cleaner
Sometimes when the drumline went home I’d stay behind
Banging away until the cops came for a “misdemeanor”
 
Yet there I was, perfecting combinations of flams and diddles
Getting the grip right, not too loose nor too tight but just fine
Every rim shot I got was loud and taut it would pop my ears
I’d reach new tiers to then teach them to the rest of the line
 
Sometimes Pearl and I would be alone in the practice room
I’d clean the shell and chrome then comb over her batter head
I’d check the hoops, the butt side strainer and the tension rods
Fine tuning the snare to bear the long performances ahead
 
The last time I played her was a day before my graduation
She’d be a new kid’s instrument, it was just the rule of thumb
As the graduating drum major I would be conducting the band
And that’s the story of Pearl and I, of me and my drum