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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. > >