They Can Be Polished
It was exquisite,
A satin finish
Like lightly oiled plasticine
Not quite gloss
Just enough lubrication
To leave a fraction of friction
So the frisson
Of it’s exit was palpable
Turd doesn’t cover it.
A light tan,
And tapered towards the end-
Natural
Not snapped off
Before it’s time.
It smelt of Indian
But merely a hint
The spice lent by transmission
Only.
Dave Bradley
Wed 27th Jan 2010 11:26
Enjoyed this Rachel. Good fun and some cracking phrases. Takes it one stage further than my 'Softer', which was a crap poem compared to this.