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We the People
The First Contentment of Our Constitution
Give me your tired, your poor, your sex-starved, your huddled masses yearning to be sexually free, the inhibited who refuse your prudish ashore. Send these, your horny, sex-obsessed to me. I lift my UV lamp beside your slippery door!”
Sex in public is consorting
With another, in plain view, comforting
Penetrating a port of entry
Intently as freedom of assembly
***
Sex on a romantic island in the kitchen
Is the free exercise of freedom of religion
That will check the box for the sexual athlete
Like the Mile High Club or a Chevy back seat
***
Dirty talking in a threesome on the beachhead
Is sandy and triply freedom of speech said
And pushing a dirty mind to excess
Makes for more pressing freedom of your press
***
In congress that undresses bulges and cleavages
Is the right to redress one's prurient grievances
And petition your partner against selfish hastiness
Is inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness
***
We are all born by the Creator equally
Because sizes don't matter or cater actually
No matter what position you take or presume
No matter what position you mount or assume
***
We the People are sexual creatures
Who celebrate our freedom to consensual features
We do what we please and choose how we meet
Because we're made for release and we are what we eat
***
Sexual creatures are We the People
Saluting the raised staff of our nation, bald spread-eagle
Giving head is gross capital expenditure
Going down the right of patriotic sex-adventurers
***
Still, there are rules that come with our spume
Our Constitution mandates we rest, then resume
Refractoriness, between, is the calm before the storm
And biological requisite and the all-nighter norm
***
Fabulous! Consummate! Incredible! or "Not bad!"
Describe the worst climax anyone's ever had
Manifest destiny railroads you coast-to-coast
Celebrates sea-to-shining-sea 'tween cuffs on the bedposts
***
The Puritans had it wrong back in Plymouth heretofore
When they chose the types of loving to deplore
We, here, are the brave, the land of the free
We choose with whom we tryst and nuzzle debauchery
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. In Life Phase II: Living and writing from a decommissioned church in Hull, MA. (Phase I was New Orleans and everything that entails. Hippocampus, behave!
https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
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Confessions of an Empath
The birds are chirping, and the sun is shining in a cloudless July sky. The vibrancy promises a beautiful day, but the cooing of the Mourning Dove perched on the powerlines seems to be more fitting than the lively songs of the robin flitting through the trees. The melancholic calls of the dove cloak the world in a sadness that hangs like tattered drapes.
By Alyssa Nicoleabout 20 hours ago in Confessions
Comments (3)
Lol, you never have to apologise for what you write. Great work!
Freely expressed!!!
Yea, I know, it's just filthy. My apologies.