Oskar Hansen

Autodidact - Poem by Oskar Hansen

The small forest or the woods by the white road made of
crushed sea-shells, was a place of enchantment squirrels
had no fear of solitary dreamers stumbling over oak roots.
I used to walk here when cows were milked, fed and
the mucking out was done and fresh straw strewn in their
stalls and the barn had chewing contented animals.
I could do so many things in the forest be an Indian or take
out of my pocket pornographic pictures the farmhand in
the village gave me and masturbate.
I was especially drawn to pictures of cunnilingus the women
seem to enjoy this form of sex more, and I was horrified when
told it was not a manly act, yet the pleasured faces stayed on
my mind. Years later I drove the forest was a private estate high
walls and posh villas and no squirrels, I laughed out loud they
will never know my secrets here where I dedicated trained for
a hearty sex life to come.

Topic(s) of this poem: historical

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Poem Submitted: Monday, November 30, 2015

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