Home

Just Luscious

Your coldness does not trouble me.
I'll not pay heed to chill.
Deliciousness is what I see.
You tempt and charm and thrill.

The taste of you upon my lips
is caramel coated glee.
You place yourself upon my hips,
and linger, happily.

You care not of my bulging thighs.
We never fuss or fight.
You're joy, wrapped in a sweet disguise.
You keep me up at night.

'Tis ecstasy, our sacred tryst.
Just you and I as one.
Your creamy peaks I can't resist.
Our romance, just begun.

I dream of you, I'll not deny.
Seduce me without pause.
I'll shout it on a mountain high;
I love you, Hagen Das!

Devices on Stand-By

I've tucked away two forty-fours.
They're deep within a wall.
Their bullets line my dresser drawers
and wait for me to call.

Two vials filled with cyanide
are safe within their space.
I've stashed them in a pot outside
beneath the Queen Anne's lace.

Two gleaming knives to slit my wrists
sit nestled in a shed.
I'll use them if my grief persists
to soak my ivory bed.

Two slipknots made of sturdy rope
sit limp upon a chair.
It helps me when I cannot cope
to know that they are there.

You ask me why they come in two's?
the need for added stress?
In case the first one that I choose
is launched without success.

I've had these items in my house
for over forty years.
I've hid them from my kids and spouse,
my neighbors and my peers.

I tried to do it years ago,
but then I had a boy.
And two more children in a row,
brought intermittent joy.

And then I thought my work was done.
I'd surely end my life.
But now my daughter has a son,
my son now has a wife.

I'll get around to my demise
and give in to despair,
when I can look into their eyes
and tell them I don't care.

Spring 2005 Issue

The Nest

I watched as she searched our jungle for strands of shelter.
Sifting through layers of soiled tin foil and old newspapers, oblivious to
the headlines.
I witnessed her lift pieces of jagged Styrofoam and pull vigorously at
ragged twine.
One by one, she carried bits of discarded modern civilization up to her
perch.

She slowly began to weave a cosmopolitan bowl of neo materials.
When finished, it resembled a Dali abstract adorned with twigs,
paperclips and insolvent pieces of a lottery ticket.

I sensed the pride she had taken in her art as she gently nudged the
pampered eggs into the belly of her masterpiece.
A few weeks later, I returned. As I sat beneath the tranquil tree gazing
upward,
I watched as she sweetly fed her hatchlings a feast of earthworms and
Doritos then tenderly put them to bed.
And I rejoiced in the fact that in my perception, our human invasion has
not altered her life in any way.

Autumn/Winter 2005 Issue

Summer 2004 Issue

Winter 2004 Issue

Summer 2003 Issue

Editor's Note

Guidelines

SNR's Writers

Mail