02-20-2014, 09:10 AM
Edit 1.0. Some grammar issue.
Bitter-sweet, neat contrivance, a cocktail mix of potioned love.
Ice and lemon? Sugared rim, that Margherita grits then slips
in to a honeyed hirondelle, a swallow gulped, a warm white dove;
a fallacy that trickles deep...a throat so wide, with cushioned lips,
to seal around that other phallus, stirred and risen by her sign.
Here is the heart and here the passion, supped from finger-printed glass.
Spirited, the blood spurts headward. Strangely by some grand design,
thoughts contrarily lack credence; indulgences of flesh surpass
even the need for Margherita, or one more sweet Madeira wine.
tectak
Oban
2014
Original
Bitter-sweet, neat contrivance, a cocktail mix of potioned love.
Ice and lemon? Sugared rim, that Margherita grits then slips
in to a honeyed hirondelle, a swallow gulped, a warm white dove,
a fallacy that trickles deep...a throat so wide, with cushioned lips,
to seal around that other phallus, stirred and risen by the sign.
Here is the heart and here the passion, supped from finger-printed glass;
spirited, the blood spurts headward. Strangely by some grand design,
thoughts contrarily lack credence; indulgences of flesh surpass
even the need for Margherita, or one more sweet Madeira wine.
tectak
Oban
2014
Bitter-sweet, neat contrivance, a cocktail mix of potioned love.
Ice and lemon? Sugared rim, that Margherita grits then slips
in to a honeyed hirondelle, a swallow gulped, a warm white dove;
a fallacy that trickles deep...a throat so wide, with cushioned lips,
to seal around that other phallus, stirred and risen by her sign.
Here is the heart and here the passion, supped from finger-printed glass.
Spirited, the blood spurts headward. Strangely by some grand design,
thoughts contrarily lack credence; indulgences of flesh surpass
even the need for Margherita, or one more sweet Madeira wine.
tectak
Oban
2014
Original
Bitter-sweet, neat contrivance, a cocktail mix of potioned love.
Ice and lemon? Sugared rim, that Margherita grits then slips
in to a honeyed hirondelle, a swallow gulped, a warm white dove,
a fallacy that trickles deep...a throat so wide, with cushioned lips,
to seal around that other phallus, stirred and risen by the sign.
Here is the heart and here the passion, supped from finger-printed glass;
spirited, the blood spurts headward. Strangely by some grand design,
thoughts contrarily lack credence; indulgences of flesh surpass
even the need for Margherita, or one more sweet Madeira wine.
tectak
Oban
2014