Monday, May 18, 2020

Mike Zone writes

Nothing like the sun 

Men without women
red bench-drunken sex on the floor
picking tomatoes
with migrants in the sun
daylight unhindered
in the glory of afternoon toil
observing nature sound
no sensual trickster pleasure
but the sight of imaginary thee
free to be
but a humble friend
of the earth

1 comment:

  1. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
    If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
    If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
    I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
    But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
    And in some perfumes is there more delight
    Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
    I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
    That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
    I grant I never saw a goddess go;
    My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.

    --William Shakespeare


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