It is a love song, if you think about it

No words. I have no words. I am old and I am foolish. But I love without conditions of fear and shame. I am old, if you want to see my ass, who am I to judge? N.A.Y.

We did the deed

Done dirty deed

Dead, left to dry

Weathered leather dry

Dribbled rippled sybil

Looking for my sister-sybil

Smile, you're on candid

Cameras are not so candid

Died on the fourth of July

Like Caesar cares he's July

Muling bits in August

Thoughts of early august

A-holes that spring

Eternal hope shot in Spring.

Sprang the season to bring joy

Boy-toy Mirna Loy, what joyful

Tidings did the holidays hole you up?

An air balloon - zeppelin like - up and away?

Stay far from the fray, mother moaned waywardly

Sinful, spin full of washing pins and worldliness

Lochness had a better guess of inlets on the green

Grassoline - mean-spirited means to an end

Bend break send repeat, wash mendaciously

Lies that leak, sighs that seek inauspicious lioness

Grunt and groan, shoot and load atop Chesapeake

Bay, chunnelled, shuttered, cigarette and silence.

So we did the deed

As you said we would -

Courting as we should

Not holding out for need

Our age would plead

Actions that we could

And - knock on wood -

Mind and body heed.

I watch your stilled world

As you mixed the softly pled

Ihor Pidhainy is a teacher and writer who lives in the Atlanta area. His poetry has appeared in Litbop, Merion West, Quarter Press. Other poems from the XOM/NAY/BOY series have appeared in Rambler Magazine and Juste Milieu Zine.