Frederick Waddell 1893-1919
Frederick Waddell
1893-1919
Kathrene Mary cojoled me not to blush.
Blush as red as a boiled lobster.
Kathrene Mary insisted that I not touch.
Touch and grope as a feathered Jove.
In the eternal equinox of April evening,
She gave me a signet ring,
With my initial engraved thereto,
As a token of our tryst together.
“W” reminded me of her,
Her voluptuous facade,
Her voluminous assemblage,
Her robust vanguard,
Of desious daydreams in the suave shadows,
Of amazing nocturnal delights,
Of lickerish ravishments and
Private investigations,
In the astonishing membranes
Of abject titillation.
But let it be known:
I died devastated,
Devastated that I never beheld
My sweet son and daughter,
Devastated that I never beheld
The sagging bosom of old age.
And now here in my grave,
I blush for the worms.
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