L'aura del Campo

2 a.m. 'talks', a Father's day poem ... of sorts

Well, the following poem includes a couple graphic words and although I don't think they are too much, you might. So don't open the popnote to this "Father's Day Poem" if you are offended by sex.

2 a.m. 'talks'

2 a.m. 'talks'

It's 2 a.m. feeding
with a warmed up bottle
when the mother is sleeping,
her tits sucked dry.

Shoudda thought about that!
Tole your dick to pull out
But he sure felt chatty
as your lips cupped breasts.

Now your son sucks titties;
no more 2 a.m. 'talks'
when his diaper is steamy
and the formula's not.

© Kåre Enga [164.97] 07-06-01

IMAGES:

White torches of yucca; lavender drooping flowers of comfrey; white fragrant lily full of pollen; purple finches cavorting; sweet privet.

Red lily; yucca's ivory bells at sunset; strolling down the sidewalks listening to the guitar strums and raw voice amid the evening's scent of linden.

EVENING THOUGHTS:

It was necessary not to have another 'blue' month. Perfection is overrated and easily leads to unwanted stress. It is enough to write when I am inspired and share when I want to share.

My cousin mentioned smoked whitefish from Barcelona when I called. She wants me to visit. It's been 4 years since she encouraged me to pack the car and leave. At this time of year, the waters of Lake Chautauqua beckon. And I could even stay at the camp and view the crayfish as big as lobsters. But I'd have to slay some personal dragons. Perhaps lure them with bluegills and bass?

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