(Bathers under the Pines by the Sea, 1926, Theo van Rysselberghe)


She is lightly floating upon her own pendulum
And the ants go forth under her feet as though shaded
In sweet comfort by the mere nearness in electric
Blue of her hum and vibration reaching their red legs.

The sounds of his own groaning in late afternoon
Among scented pines wispily bending towards her
Dark countenance in humble adoration, is one of boy
Clumsily still hoping her breasts will somehow burst

And gush forth the milk of his true youth and spill
Along his cheeks and run to his chest and down
Further to pool among same small creatures below. Her
Hands come to his face and she breathes in a moan.


About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s