He was washed away by a violent orgasm
And he was. But in all seriousness, the more I read this poem, the less scandelous it becomes and the more depressing it becomes. When I wrote it, I laughing quite a bit because I've never written anything so sexual before, but Sherry picked up on the all the winter aspects and how they chill any heat in the poem. Wow. She was right. What a mood chiller. But the word play was fun!
Mourning Wood
On a January morning expect the snow to crunch
When commuters wrapped in their cream-puffs walk to work,
Waking us as we shiver under a quilt another hour.
Expect the air to shave a layer off your perky cheeks
And your skin will throb red as blood rushes to rescue
The flesh stiffening around your frozen bones,
As you shuffle in your pink pajamas to the mailbox.
From the window you look like a snow man
Who's carved her curves with a voyeur's care
And swelled her cotton skin in all the right places.
Expect to see the weather vain drain its blood from sight
When the air squishes out all its heat like toothpaste,
As your spidery fingers poke around the icy box.
You're only yards of stiff air and a window away.
Expect my weather vain to swell with blood
Draining from all the now unimportant limbs of life.
O Winter let this vain thaw until she shuffles on.
But, alas, you come as quick as you leave!
On an even chillier note, I'll be going to the modeling agency today (in my whole life I never imaged myself uttering those words). There's one in St. Paul, and I've got an appointment in a few hours. I prepared yesterday by getting a hair cut (stop cheering, I didn't get it all cut off). I don't really know why I'm going. I don't want to be a model. I'm sure the pay is good, but I'd have to live on lettece and lemon juice the rest of my life. I think I'll just go in, talk to some poeple, and see what happens, lol. I'm not doing underwear, though!!!