by Bart Rastard
Published 2017
Published 2017
Loyal-T
Shallow puddles beam back street light and light
rain,
Sodden in my shoes again,
Steeped and sniffling, struggling through the stiff brass lock,
Drying off grey mollusc socks,
First I think,
Only of you.
My special one, always beckoning fondly,
Though never moves to meet me,
Plants a wet smear warmly across my top lip,
And I take another sip,
Before I even,
Take my coat off.
To plunge into you, our biologies meet,
Sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet,
Amorous seasons embarked on together,
Half an hour of pleasure,
I will bring you
To my bedroom
I will bring you weightlessly up the staircase,
Leaving of you but a trace,
Of a vessel poured over my drowning luck,
Longing to be filled back up,
My love it is
Renewable.
A liquid lust, you leave a stain where it spills,
Dripping on my windowsill,
That emptying space in me you always fill,
Which quenches quickly untill
I burn my belly
And we never learn.
We do it best at home, though away we play,
At a friend's place, on display,
I'm not the first, nor am I the only one,
Who likes his milky and strong,
My love does not take sugar,
And now that you know,
Stick the kettle on.
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Sodden in my shoes again,
Steeped and sniffling, struggling through the stiff brass lock,
Drying off grey mollusc socks,
First I think,
Only of you.
My special one, always beckoning fondly,
Though never moves to meet me,
Plants a wet smear warmly across my top lip,
And I take another sip,
Before I even,
Take my coat off.
To plunge into you, our biologies meet,
Sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet,
Amorous seasons embarked on together,
Half an hour of pleasure,
I will bring you
To my bedroom
I will bring you weightlessly up the staircase,
Leaving of you but a trace,
Of a vessel poured over my drowning luck,
Longing to be filled back up,
My love it is
Renewable.
A liquid lust, you leave a stain where it spills,
Dripping on my windowsill,
That emptying space in me you always fill,
Which quenches quickly untill
I burn my belly
And we never learn.
We do it best at home, though away we play,
At a friend's place, on display,
I'm not the first, nor am I the only one,
Who likes his milky and strong,
My love does not take sugar,
And now that you know,
Stick the kettle on.
