Higher and Still Higher

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Narcotic nights are what he misses, yearns

For, lip intoxications more like stabs

Of hormones, or epiphany that burns,

Skin revelations smothering like slabs

Of man’s romance.  Sir Galahad is not

For him, no purity of Holy Grail.

He wants the slice of love Sir Lancelot

Ripped off from Arthur, harshness not to fail,

As hot as burning stake, and wants the drugs

Of kisses, licking, pounding need.  This need

Is like a hot mouth sucking at the dugs

Of lust.  This man wants hose of hardness’ seed.

  He does not want the moon.  He wants transfixed

    Suns, planets, all of them with passion mixed.

©  Phillip Whidden