WEBVTT

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Here's another love poem.

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There aren't enough
love poems in the world,

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so here's one more for you.

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"My Pastoral."

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She's got eyes of cornflower.

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Blue, eye lashed,
blonde, barely.

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In the case of my wanting Friday
night done right, my love,

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I almost wrote lobster.

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Yes, I want to be your lobster.

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Goodness, there is an ice
pick between lover and lobster

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who has the softest,
sweetest hands.

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I nearly said plans.

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What has happened
to Freud's term,

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the convulsive act of happiness.

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Flipped into a boiling
pot, drained and buttered.

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I thought better of myself
then thought cartilaginous

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claws nut cracked to shard.

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You are the softest,
sweetest meat.

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I almost said milk.

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I may have.

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