Wrestling Poem by Kevin Patrick

This Ring's holy, some slick hot trove,
of brute male force
ripe limes entwine their fit physique
cling like peripatetic vines
climbing a sturdy lattice frame
and stumble towards victory
for one to top
the other to bottom


We watch them circle like vultures
eyes defiling each other
til their shoving against the ropes
to a chock slam or neck breaker
Floorboards swiftly stutter
bulging muscles pucker
as the years of practice paid off
in stiches for more inches

Moist with on another's
masculine aromas
they stir with unshackled fervor
not afraid to mingle
as pretext of Darwin struggle
gorged, in blue contusions
from their celibate liaisons
Bloods just a money shot


Men are funny creatures
killing each other by groping
fishing for some kissing
when the baits fresh in the chase
like lovely Hyacinths
they burst with thirst in their fists
strike ripe within their prime
and live before they die

violence their foreplay
when lusts was the dust of their battleground