Call me Rocco, the little brother of Saint Vitus.
I've got waxy eyelashes, a flexible pelvis
And can sort through the card catalog
Of all your mystical categories
With the power of my tango.
Are you surprised by my Latin thrusts?
Didn't you know you'd set off
These seismic rumbas
With your cocktail shaker
And mocha eyes?
Didn't you know you'd lose your balance,
You'd lose your breath
When my sacrum popped in want of you?
Doesn't it bore into your database
Like the worm wriggling at the bottom of a tequila bottle?
You looked and I danced.
You asked and I said yes.
That's not my phone. That's not my wallet.
That's my soul.
My soul is in my pants.
-- David McNamara
What a "rousing" poetry selection, Greg! And since you know about my not-so-secret obsession, I'm going to link to this from my blog On the Meaning of Adam Lambert. His eyes are aquamarine, but the poem fits him like...a glove.
Posted by: Juneau Underwood | June 26, 2010 at 10:25 AM
dave's got a cloud in his trousers!
Posted by: alex | June 27, 2010 at 01:01 PM
Fall in love, you won't regret it / That's the best job of all if you can get it.
Posted by: Rock Hazmat | November 23, 2022 at 12:24 AM
dave's got a cloud in his trousers!
Posted by: matthew | April 27, 2023 at 09:56 AM
dave's got a cloud in his trousers!
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