Dark fringe askew over insolent eyes,
hooped earrings and outrageous fashion
that could only have been borne,
Of Neptune- kissed charm and
some damn fantastic amorous skill –
Man or woman,
boy or man?
or coldly Apollonian?
Pianist fingers, long and slim,
fine examples of fluted lily stems;
what could be even more inappropriate,
Than that ridiculously magnificent
specimen of an arsepiece?
Phallus? Microphone? Whatever it is!
My helpless mind yelped,
cursing itself while hiding behind
the half-hinged door of my petrified self
as you kept hitting your buttocks
with that knowing smirk on your face –
Gothic lace, peeling jackets,
flouncy blouses and horrible moccasins,
always playing that damned game during
those sweaty, wanton gigs –
Oh, my – what should I reveal today,
my wolfish, covetous dah-lings?
An endless torrent of snowy skin?
Or a sliver of flesh beneath the tightest top
That deceptively timid nipple,
this solitary peach blossom nestling
in a brimming sea of milk,
That soon sheds its lack of shame,
along with these frankly terrible clothes…
Your face, your face…!
but it only seems the most natural place
to start a shameless investigation –
Wintry eyes that turned to
indolent savages in summer skies,
save for the ghastly chic of your eyebags
(which nobody could ever carry off that well),
Or the irresistable droop that adorned
both corners of your sad-puppy smile,
stars winking silently to casual observers –
Which I think
is much rather like that hidden dimple,
this invisible little beauty mark that chooses
to present itself at wholly unexpected moments…
But sweet Jesus –
That indelibly exquisite smile!
Whoever saw your usual expression
would have assumed that you were
a complete nefarious grouch
until the grin broke through that surly façade,
like some stray, unfurling miracle
which inevitably lit up your dour visage –
the sunniest of all glorious springs!
A violent bursting of cherry blossoms,
granted by some sun’s benevolent kiss
Stretching skin that ran the deepest channels
over the brightest beam of that smile,
exposing some rather fine genetic makeup
with regal cheekbones as the final product,
Which thankfully did make up
for your most unfortunate nose –
not that it matters, of course
But this aesthetically-inclined
happiness of mine wasn’t to last,
Because – alas!
Like some salacious prankster,
you loved changing that romantic image
on some wild, fantastic whim
And we had to reclaim our fragmented hearts
from this corrupted altar of beauty –
Vases, odes, dahlias!
That were so cruelly rejected
by your impish sartorial farces
Frankly I feel like I should list them here,
but they are just too deeply distressing for me –
Though in our sinful hearts,
we’re still very glad to see you
happy, healthy and still delightfully lanky,
Even if your nose
isn’t exactly wonky-free…
(This resulted from a joke with a good friend, that somehow became real within the last couple of hours. Happy 49th birthday, Brett Anderson! Librans rule.)