Dailypost Prompt: Carefree

They come in all shapes and sizes. Actually they don’t really; they are all made out of tiffy-taffy and all very much the same. It’s the packaging that varies wildly. Walking down that aisle of the supermarket, it always fills one with superstitious and suspicious awe and wonder. The explosion of colors, patterns, styles. The uplifting mantras of confidence, hope, protection. The miracle of life, the mystery, the wish for a hysterectomy, the .. what the fuck?

That’s enough copy. Buy Carefree(R) Tampons today.


Naughty Stuff! You have been warned.

I wish to compose a poem celebrating cunnilingus. I want it to be unafraid, but not vulgar. bold but not aggressive. And it must be original (fat chance!). The last thing I want to do, is to compare a woman’s genitalia to a flower…for the ten-zillionth time. It’s a beautiful metaphor for sure but, sadly, a cliche that has been done to death. The world will not be improved by further regurgitation. Moreover, flowers attract bees. A bee in the cunt is no fun, my friend. And if anyone makes a joke about cunning-linguists, I will hit them with a brick (or spank them).  So … where to begin? I have pondering this for several days now. A treatise on the mechanics of muff-diving is pointless; We all know how it’s done (if you don’t – you shouldn’t be reading this. Go to bed!).

After much scheming, plotting, resistance and internal-debate, what I imagine is …

Those dreamy, creamy, steamy thighs
Between which, buried-treasure lies
Across the soft and furry ground
Beyond the softly rising mound
Approach the cleft that gently holds
A gleaming jewel between the folds
To fan the flames of fire within,
Let the art of tongue begin
Her back is arched and thighs, once spread
Now clamp hard around the head.
A thunderstorm is soon to come.
Cunnilingus! anyone?

Photo: lips by Netalloy.