Monday, March 24, 2014


Like a sparkling wine
inside a glass,
I will drink her up,
I'll have her pass
through my lips -
go my lips between -
till I am lost
in a drunken dream.

It is a white Christmas
though you dance to Bob Marley's ghost.
Not for you the Xmas carols,
you say "Reggae is the most !"
Oh yes you're a 70s girl,
and he was a Rastafetarian.
You are not a Rasta though,
nor even are you a Christian.

My oh my, it is Christmastime.
The girl's sure a stocking filler !
Lips as red as a rosy Santa Claus.
Outside the icy-wind's a killer.
But here within my bedroom
she unwraps herself for me
in the glow of a white moon
white as the snow, white as she.

You're more than silver,
you're more than gold.
You are a treasure
my very eyes behold.

And though it is I think
many-possessions a crime,
I say to you, girl,
be mine, be mine !

Swifts were known
as devilings.
Girl you were
forever circling
like a swift
with its eye
on the lookout
for a meaty-fly.
Fast fast fast
girl on the wing.
Still on the run
you deviling?

I see a tramp
who is burden-free
but for his bottle
that keeps him company.

I see a queeen
who is burden-free
but for her crown
of responsibility.

We'd have the State
take burden away,
live irresponsibly
and be drunk all day?

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