I LOVE BOOTY

I don’t live, I live love, love through bicentennial romance of a quintessential song dance, a reminiscent globe trot inside an incandescent rose blot. A forty-year-old joke fought with a twenty-year-old hoax over a tab in a car left by the coat jock.

But only one man rose from the ashes to claim his prize and his name was serenity inside his eyes. He lived long but prospered little, in the ways of women he was considered fiddle. Crimson thunder streaked ‘cross the sky and in her name was rendered shy.

Like mizu to a mirage, wakarimasita-ka? She was out of reach held asunder by a pushup bra. Supporting nothing more than a vivid dream in a brazzers seam and a pristine gleam, suddenly, life more obscene was just a proper angle shot in a movie scene.

A profile picture and a tweeting twitcher, orchestrated to the finest pitcher, inside a fork of twang and the thighs and fangs of a gleaming twilight blunder.

Oh how life deals decks of cards and sex but never falters to leave the steps of wonder beyond us. What could have been or what would have been, questions left to haunt us as the mind creeps up inside our steel plaid cups left half full or half empty, but never plenty.

A curvaceous figure none beg to differ but many plot to quiver. In seeking heat and passion’s feast all shall sacrifice their liver.

Do not despair there is no care nor wonder left to fondle, as long as seats will ground their chairs and whip their emotional strong-hold. Through denial’s state we fluctuate like market crises reverberate, I do not care I have no hair but my bank account follicles.

And sometimes there, over there, far, far away, the sheep cried wolf and yet it hugged the assailant. Holding tight it feigned the bites of the eyes that reigned to taint it. But love was strong and so the bond broke through conventional stroke and chatterbox folk in geriatric paced derangement.

And the result? A wolf is tamed but born again inside his answer.

How often we seek and in friendship defeat the purpose of our masked intentions. To only find we are trapped and confined inside a hopeless concession. A disowned ghetto a Jared Leto and dolled up steel stilettos, all one and the same some true some bane but all deserve attention.

If life was but a memory, a collection of thoughts in felony, stolen moments in fleeting cars and convertible Molotov bizarres, how simple a measure of worth would be if scales tipped and sexes dipped in tea-bag like fixed hegemony.

She woke one day and to her dismay her infatuated state of concern had run astray, inside her mind she was at bay but never felt the blunder; or was it just the memory that stung like misguided tremory from a tectonic shift in a plate imbalance of wounded personality? An ego booed is an ego fooled but thicker in the fire. Once it burns it trickles ferns yet crackles in desire.

So in simplicity I lay and wonder how easy it is to live love when love is smarter, detached from emotional understanding of what is proper and in tune with intelligent understanding of what is emotion. And in that light I do respite as I can simply manifest, it is no secret when I confess, that damn it I love booty.

Happy Valentines Day

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Read my column every Saturday in the Daily Star! Pick up the next one Saturday Feb 119 2011: A Brothel in Egypt?