My winds of chaos started in pussy
Both the first and the third, the last heaven.
The first one, in the eighties, was bushy
The third, just a few years back, was shaven.
The span between them was thirty-six years
Of bliss and pain, life double-dyed in lies
Through ears and fears, spears and tears, puppeteers
Who learned to decide who lives and who dies.
The pussies were hearty in depth; wetness
Like raindrops from a kind storm in summer
Hiding the inevitable deadness
Which awaits every newly born comer.
Chaos always ensued my winds of love
Whether I kissed her below or above.
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Dedicated to my best chaos.
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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