Polluted
by Sam M. Phillips

Glancing glamour,
Enamour the endless paramours,
The open sores,
The gluttonous wantonness,
Slimy seductress,
They get undressed,
Depressed
And repressed under bitter bite,
Spite grows with no respite,
Alight with fright,
As we twist and contort,
Distort,
Resort to second best,
As if it’s a test,
No less.

Binding knot,
Grinding hot,
Confiding and sliding with second person,
Nothing worse than
The glare of glistening gland,
Expand
And take in hand,
Glide with glee,
Then eyes glaze over,
Amaze then hover
Around the kill,
Constrict with skill,
The thrill is in the taking,
The faking waking hours,
Glowers,
Gazing in a craze
And fazing through the haze,
Holding each other,
Intending to smother
Life force in crushing glove,
The rushing shove.

Gummy and fuming,
Subsuming and consuming,
A losing force,
A protracted farce,
Fulfilling outlet,
To some extent,
A vent for vicious volumes
Looms inside,
Cannot hide
From gnashing teeth,
Thrashing feet,
The pelting sleet
On slick stained sheet.

The great head,
Gnarly and snarling,
Growing and knowing not
Why it does anything,
A bestial thing,
Set to glut its passions,
A gleaming beaming ray,
Holds sway
And never quits,
Revisits,
Day by day,
Infuses life in every way it can,
A force fan,
Fuelling and duelling,
Bossing and glossing over other needs,
It feeds
On excess and core,
Hungers for more,
Gobbling up in godlike glut,
Set in a rut,
Doomed to repeat,
It takes a seat,
In our gut,
Sewn shut
And backed up.

A golden golem,
Grinding us into our grave,
No wish to save ourselves,
To the depth it delves,
A gossamer thread,
We take to bed,
Head filled with blood,
No grace,
It’s a race,
Cloying scent,
Deploying the heaven sent.

Gourmet governess,
A temptress,
Nothing less
Than a cruel joke,
A fool’s yoke,
We choke
As around our neck it constricts
And conflicts with heaving sea inside of us,
A truss tying us down,
Dying to turn around
And return to a place
Where hormones do not dominate
And contaminate
Something beautiful,
A veritable vestibule to real contact,
Inescapable fact,
We’ve polluted sex and love,
A gift from above,
Connecting us now
In all the wrong ways,
This predator preys
And we feed it,
Pretend to need it,
But there’s still a true voice,
If we choose to heed it.

***

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