The Day b4 Valintines

the wind never blows

down in the well

where i squat and doze

in the black icy water that coldly tickles

my pacman moss covered testicles

which feed upon others used up wishing nickels

heartburn brings back the distant dream of tasting her tart

the noblest women i never did dine

my love for her puddles like gasoline in my heart

so i’m to fracken scared to carry her flame

so from the depth of my well

sitting like a teary eyeball that’s gone lame

stuck like a dissected frog on the lens of a telescope

i gaze up at her heavenly body

but  her distance  keeps me from smelling her flowery soap

so i pretend i’m a caped hairy ball lead midget whose ever so bold

squatting inside a canon located upon the battlefield

of a three ringed circus where priest by nun clowns are devilishly consoled

and she is the fat ladies blossoms i shall triumphantly capture 

as soon as this rusty canon fires

my wood nose dribbles in excitement of my pending rapture

© bg 2011