The Savour of Satire
I dream still of thine eggplant-colored eyes,
thy cheeks of bubblegum, thy lips merlot,
thy candied breasts my sweet tooth tantalize --
each nipple tongued a teasing dry Bordeaux!
Desire I hard thy gams long shapely yams,
thy buttocks orbed two buttered cakes chiffon,
thy feet ťclairs, thy toes chipotle jams --
which deep my hunger sucks in gorging on!
Thy rich vanilla pudding thighs bewitch,
thy hips of pasty pastries puffed beguile,
thy short and salty curlies raise mine itch --
as yet thy sweetmeat leaves one sated smile!
And stuffed with thee I wake to beg but "More!" --
till straight I full recall thou art a bore.
Contest: The Moment You "Woke Up"
Form: Shakespearean Sonnet
Major Poetic Technique: Irony Dawning Each Noon
Yet Still on the Wrong Rough Road with Potholes
Theme: Lust's Labour's Lost