Orientation Misapplication

Youthful passions flare in haste
The heart a searching, pumping paste
She, the fair and fueling feast
Of hormones, self-sufficing beasts

Pleasing yes but wanting not
The place I’ve picked for my love spot
She the aft and not the fore
She goes through a different door

To a likeness she aspires
-Delicate beauty not a sire
Lilac legs and tangled fronds
To weave with her own lovely longs

My perception dull with guile,
Lysandrian sight and Hermian smile,
Soft lips glisten Maxim-style,
Photoshopped to please me

I see green and glaring red
Are all the signs she’s not to bed
With page boy, male-man, ranting sir,
Oh truth be told! Kick the cur!

Fashioned out of order if-
My quick eye doth miss the drift,
An amazonian warrior soul,
Prefers a plate and not a bowl

For her kind words and longing gaze,
Do o’er stretch my wanting haze,
Homing in on fairer sex,
Leaving me to be perplexed

She would rather bunk with gals
I could only be her pal
Gender such a trifling thing!
Was God or man its author?

I cannot go conquer Miss
She would loath my hairy kiss,
Smite the smell of masculine
And search the room for crinoline

I cannot go romping round
In sync to such a frivolous sound
And expect myself not to be fooled,
Too much drink and folly pooled

So I make a shrewd embrace
-Promise her myself will case
With re-direction like a dove,
Having more Platonic love

I was wanton, reckless, coy,
Now I get served like a boy,
I conjured a sinister craft,
To the fore but not the aft

@ Copyright Sir Barrett 2006

Poetry