The Amorous World

I am Pan, the pagan wild thing.
When I enter your dewy glade
with my animal slip and slide
and my pheromone thighs,
the rivers will run sweet
with juice and honey.

Your terrified delight
at the sight of what
springs glistening from
between my woolly curls
sends the birds shrieking
from their branches
and leaves the tress
gasping for breath.

I am Pan, king of stags,
and I'll lassoo and hog-tie
your pearly, moist, virginal plushness.
Your eyes will roll back in your head
as your steaming cup
is filled to overflowing.

Our pinks and plumps
will root and rut
like piggies in mud
and you'll forget your own name
for the stars in your eyes
and the world in your veins.

I am Priapus, the insatiable.
Come entwine your legs
around my maypole dance.
Pull me deep inside
like a fish swallowing an eel.

I'm a perpetual potency machine
that never deflates,
thrusting muscles that never tire.

How big is your appetite?
Come gorge yourself on me!
Worship my warm stone monument
with your greedy flesh.
Satisfy your body's raging desires.

My eruption will dwarf Vesuvius
and you will eagerly drink down
my life-giving nectar.

I am Eros, the seducer,
and I will penetrate you
with my quivering arrow.

Let me pollinate your
tender, moist petals
with my tongue's golden ambrosia.
I'll pick your forbidden fruit
and slurp the sugar
from your delicate peach.

Hail Venus! Hail Aphrodite!
what sight could be more enthralling
than taut, frantic haunches
against soft, trembling, pillowy thighs.

We will bathe in the frenzied hot springs
of each other's fluids,
and ride ecstatic rapids
of white-hot, grunting, screaming release.

I am your lover and I'm
shivering on fire for you!

I have been tortured and broken
by the Gods of Love.

I have been crucified and resurrected
by the arabesque teardrops
of your breasts.

The joyful crescent valley
where your luscious hips
join your sinuous waist.

The bouncing, thrilling
roller-coaster ride
of your outrageous
heart-attack ass.

Your sinfully smoldering lips
like a branding iron on my skin.

Your midnight eyes,
like collapsing stars,
drawing me helplessly into
your intoxicating gravity.

The way you shimmy those
rippling, ripe curves
across the room like a
pair of drunken snakes
doing the watusi.

I want to eat you up
like yummy, sticky candy,
bury my face in your creamy bowl
like a hungry dog,
and lick your buttery love
from my gooey fingers.

I want to melt down
into a puddle of
molten slag with you,
crack the ground open
like a jackhammer,
knock the heavenly bodies
from their orbits,
and hear the voices of the gods
in your moans and in your sighs.

David W. Aronson
December 2005