< Issue 10 >
Spring Village
by Maggie Mae
I instruct boys in chapel hymns
while girls
grow wild on pomegranate vines.
They sit like gunpowder in a barrel,
waiting for females to ripen.
Soaking blue pipes in youthful angst.
Red fruit takes figure;
metamorphosis!
Wild tresses trickle onyx seduction.
Be still!
Be still, young men!
She will flesh. She will blush upon you,
without pity!
When spring turns her over;
Prime!
She will be ready!
Do not be rushed. Refuse haste
and let her
bring her pretty juice to you.
On your knees,
underneath leaves and limbs,
pray to her swollen majestic tide!
She is a proper meal.
You are hungry for deep surrender,
but do not!
Long suffering is your christened scent,
Commanding seasonal flames.
Let patience command.
Spring Village
by Maggie Mae
I instruct boys in chapel hymns
while girls
grow wild on pomegranate vines.
They sit like gunpowder in a barrel,
waiting for females to ripen.
Soaking blue pipes in youthful angst.
Red fruit takes figure;
metamorphosis!
Wild tresses trickle onyx seduction.
Be still!
Be still, young men!
She will flesh. She will blush upon you,
without pity!
When spring turns her over;
Prime!
She will be ready!
Do not be rushed. Refuse haste
and let her
bring her pretty juice to you.
On your knees,
underneath leaves and limbs,
pray to her swollen majestic tide!
She is a proper meal.
You are hungry for deep surrender,
but do not!
Long suffering is your christened scent,
Commanding seasonal flames.
Let patience command.
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