new sirens

he is extremely keen on aberrant innocence,
new sirens, they're everywhere,
here a chasm, there a ravine,
over there an abyss that takes you
plunging into a void,
this, clearly, is a man
who's accustomed to tumultuous passion

what goes down must come up
and he's extremely keen on an ample
edifice too, filling the interior of her tulip,
at almost 7 an a half inches high,
being part of the biggest
ornament in her world,
who said size doesn't matter?

but still he wants more,
more peaks and chasms,
more inlets and tributaries,
more contours and curves,
deeper crevices and desires

if this sounds like pretentious manly virile lecherous
nonsense, then you probably haven't experienced
his libidinous, lustful, drive

like hundreds of others,
she has stood under the considerable, inflamed trigger,
staring at the glistening exterior of his sizeable,
piercing augmentation,
watching herself being reflected back,
elongated, Giacometti-like,
with her head, multiplied and
turned upside down, eyes wide open,
like the gaping holes in a skull

when she was a child she imagined
God as a giant, yearning, red flushed rooster,
on either side of this gentle vision
are the reflected lines of the protrusion,
wombs, bands of light, sex and death,
of course, but also authenticity,
the lover as voodoo, warlock, wizard,
the lover as divinity