Prurience and censorship
are kissing cousins, but I do
prefer the former. My eyes strip
the bare essentials not in view,
but hinted by a skirt that rides
above the knees and mid-thigh high,
and panties that are like high tides
that cover ground that’s rarely dry.
I love to sail uncensored seas,
discovering alleged uncharted,
distant parts I hope to please
when willingly the thighs are parted,
but if the superego censor
should try to cramp my style and id
I hope that I and my extensor
can go where censors may forbid.
(10/16/07)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem