Penus

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Penus

tallowy drops fall through the gauze
of old weaves,
of years repeatedly wasted in manic sprees.
In this room,
silence is louder than the cry
of an infant released from a womb,
thrown into doom.
Even the howl of what I thought 
a wolf
was the inner bellow of an oddly shaped
libido. 

the elements stranded in a tedious stance
miss their natural potency
for the beauty of self polished scales,
of legs longer than the trunk of a tree.
Her first touch flayed the flesh off his ribs,
her kiss took away the taste of salt
that long had filled his steely palate.

A swagger of the feet, 
the head is floating in celestial thoughts,
and the hand, he acquired from hard work,
is now learning how to conjure.
He's of an uncanny nature,
he looks down on men 
who never lower their heads to look
at the manacled slave, Penus.

Penus was the best on stage,
and without any poetry,
he tempted and disgusted.
Without prompting, he could rise
his relentless efforts
to unexpected ends. Then die.

She, mistress of fellatio, knew
how to pump him back to life
with false promises. And he believes
every time.

the audience that came
to watch the tabooed god
was now covered by a pall of a sacred mist.
Then comes the harlequin, scurrying on stage,
stripped of his last patch of color,
and on his projected arousal
was a feminine truth of freedom.

The children eavesdropped but heard nothing,
they looked through crevices
but could only see patches
and unfamiliar shapes.
the orgasm reached a crescendo
causing the place to shake.
The audience was captivated, in love 
as blood gushed from their noses.
Unctuous trickles leaked from the domed ceiling,
It was a sign. 
And many wondered about the pendant 
hanging down from the cupola.

He opened his eyes to the waste 
of his sick stomach,
his hands pressed on the sides 
of a toilet. 
His knees hurt, but the flog that whipped his back
again made him puke a whole new generation,
creatures with golden teeth.