Discordant Duet

You give to me purpose,

Your touch brings me life,

And with trebly crescendo I cry.

I trill at your tickle,

I fit as you finger me,

Practiced with prowess most spry.

Inside of me, trembling,

You hammer away

On my heartstrings, as gently you croon,

In my belly, vibrations

Of bass tones so sharp,

With my tenor you’re always in tune.

Glistening black

Upon delicate white,

Baby, grand is our tender vignette.

I love when you use me,

I lust to be played,

Like a lover’s discordant duet.

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Dwalin & Monche

Dwalin stood dwarven, deformed and grotesque,

Ever-bent by a hard, hamstrung hunch,

Driven mad by implacable lust for burlesque,

And a one-eyed, French flapper named Monche.

The myopic madam, not without her charms,

Bore a glass eye, white, rheumy and still,

That reflected light onto her pustuled arms,

Which she proudly would rupture at will.

“Money up front, mon amour, s’il vous plaît,”

Hissed her voice through a phlegm-laced veneer,

Smiling sweetly, her scabby tongue slithered its way

Into that which remained of his ear.

If their passion affected the business, although,

 The burlesque house was not apt to gauge,

For most just presumed it was part of the show,

As they generally fucked on the stage.

A Love Most Heady

Ο

Lifting the cover, he gazed at his lover,

His faint grin beginning to grow,

Heart all aflutter, and thrilled to discover

The feelings that burned in him so.

Ο

“How I love thee,” he said as he cradled her head

In his hands and stared deep in her eyes,

Then he placed it back into the box ‘neath his bed,

His beloved and most cherished prize.

Ο