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â€
her camambert breasts and opera eyes
devour me between liqour sips
a real artist, poet for lunch
my gumboot genius delights her
'art', she sighs, 'is so beautiful'
truly, it makes life bearable
i decide not to argue
'lets have a look at your breasts', i suggest
she giggles, 'is that a poem?'
'no', i say, 'i'm just curious'
'your too honest', she says
'i could never lie to you'
all the wine and coffee make me drowsy
i write her a love note on a napkin
'what a lovely poem', she says,
convinced it has nothing to do with her tits
i take her hand
'lets go back to your place'
she laughs, 'sure you wont be silly?'
ive always wanted to end a poem with tits
