i must admit i’ve enjoyed a wide range of love letters – notes written in blood to songs recorded promising endless fidelity and pages of poems to drawings drawed.
but, *sigh*, for the past year or so there’s been a bit of a dry spell.
until recently, when for shits and giggles and a bit of twitter fun, some plums dedicated some of their time to penning a few lines in my honour. how could i not feel awesome. something like this:
like the smiling kitten. not the sleeping dog.
so without further ado:
from david
(an excerpt from a poem that may or may not be about me by an almost acquaintance who is Very Good With Words)
She’s charming, she’s gorgeous, she’s lovely and fun;
She’s as elusive as green flashes at the last of the sun;
She’s as feisty as a nettle that’s been known to stun;
From the prickles that surround it: I’d know, i’ve been done.
By night she’s all Gulab Juman, sticky and sweet;
With her in a conference, staying cool is a feat;
But for her I would wait, till her body’s on heat;
From the fiery brimstone, in hell where we meet.
For putting wings on her, and a harp in her hand;
Is an insult to her talents, please, let me expand!
I’ve seen her on another lady, in a hall and on land;
And her poise is delicious, delightful, contraband.
Thinking about her I’ve been known to blush;
From the blood that’s been pumping, to my cheeks all agush;
So I’ll bide my time, there’s no need to rush;
We’ll lie together again, like royalty side by side in a flush.
Immortal Prose from @uberfiend
(a touch of wordsmithing from a word master is not to be sniffed at)
Ahem…A sex toy reviewer named Black
Cried out, “It’s a very sad fact.
That my nights are so blurry,
With things latex and whirry
That I may need an op to take up the slack.”
No?
Wait…
What about a Haiku?
Cherry blossoms falling on anal beads.
The cat looks once. And leaves the room
Hindquarters clenched…
No?
What about some Monty Python?
Ohhhhhh Emmanuel Kant used a lubricant
And slipped into the whole stable
Heidegger, Heidegger hired a female beggar
With a strap-on she was most able
And John Paul Sartre, loved the Sapphic arts….
You been Poem’d by @ShellsPemBroke
(a very unbroken pen)
parp.
I used to think that love and sex were topics too taboo,
And then along came Dorothy, who cut through all the poo. (I wanted to write shit, but it didn’t rhyme.)
No longer need I hide in silence, my questions still unasked,
This luscious beast, so wise and fair, my troubled did unmask.
Foreplay does not in fact refer to playing some Kenny G,
And that may be why before her blog, I never got past base three.
Sexy dances are only sexy when you happen to have good moves.
The “Running Man” simply does not count, nor does dancing to the Bee Gees grooves.
Apparently I’ve been doing it wrong, and that’s not where it’s supposed to go,
Unless you’re into kinkier things, or are a bro who loves other bros.
And also when you’re doing it, it seems to go without saying,
You must inform BEFORE-HAND that you actually are role-playing.
And as for toys and gadgets, they are made for boys AND girls,
And once again you need consent BEFORE you give them a whirl.
But none of these things I would have known, if it weren’t for Dot’s blog leaking.
I tried to ask this to my dad, and we are no longer speaking.
(Also the visual aids probably weren’t necessary.)
follow shells on twitter @ShellsPemBroke
Thank you all, you are most awesome.
