I'm sure it's still _allowed_ to send poems, Liz.
This is what I'm working on at the moment, though I'm afraid it's not a
family kind of entertainment.
But Merry Christmas to All
Best
Dave
Eros, the child-god, who turns the blonde
lusts of dawn's eye into stamen,
pistil, petal, touch, whose long longed-for
gift is life that means death
over kissed pricked nipples over licked labia
the thrill like static at the flush base
of the neck and inside her thigh, abides.
David Bircumshaw
Leicester, England
Home Page
A Chide's Alphabet
Painting Without Numbers
www.paintstuff.20m.com/index.htm
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/index.htm
----- Original Message -----
From: <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Monday, December 24, 2001 11:50 PM
Subject: Re: Poem
> is it still allowed to send a poem? - Alison's contribution of 'For
> Christopher John put me in mind of this
>
> Hope the season is bringing you all joy
>
> Liz
>
> Beautiful Boy
>
> Pretty one. Your nodding head
> and its companion.
>
> So pretty. Your oval face,
> and your mirror in the water.
>
> Give me your honesty
> lover, yellow flower,
>
> for your white eyes crush
> all the sleeping sins,
>
> complaints and questions
> rattle around us.
>
> You so small and me huge
> little lover.
>
> What a noise the leaves make!
> In the seed heads you can see
>
> your delirium, madness.
> My sadness, my own grief.
>
>
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