on humor(s)

I inhale the pungent ambrosia
the brackenwater of
your deathly loins.
My pulse quickens against
bolts of ceremonial lace
and you will reach the ecstasy
of the trite.

Funereal, they said,
your humor.

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

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

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.