homeMonday, 13 August 2012
"P. O. W."
And she won't run.
And I will capture.
And it's light fun;
But there's no laughter.
High noon
Following the sunrise
that crept in after the moon.
She makes the platoon swoon.
Delicate and fine;
But she requests front line.
Top tier volunteer.
My cheerful concubine.
She's my favorite soldier;
Especially when heat smolders.
Soft, sweaty skin glistens.
I command. She listens.
I demand. She supplies
With lowered eyes, full hands,
Bent knees, full mouth
And an ambition void of doubt.
And we don't race.
But I chase after.
And I keep pace.
And I will snatch her.
Headboard and four pegs.
I love the way it feels.
Camouflage across her legs.
Soft, leather laced heels
That never grace the minefield.
Drove through her delicate domain
With little ease for pain.
I patrol her plains.
Shell shocked from the stains.
Soft, sticky shards.
Withdrew my fleet. Caught off guard.
More seductive shrapnel
Than one private can tackle.
Invasion at her post.
Crashed against the coast
With artillery to boast.
And she's out there.
And the air is muggy.
And she always dies;
But it's not bloody.
She throws silent shade.
Stealthy sonar grenades.
Soaked but heat seeking
Lodged in throats demeaning.
She trades belligerent blade
With the butterscotch brigade.
My jar head remains pretty
While scoping in on the prissy.
My sergeant hits her shimmy
Without moving her feet.
Under her quilted tent of sheets
is a meal ready to eat.
Treading trenches few have seen
Taking sips from her canteen.
She accepts every directive
And fulfills her prime objective.
And I touch down.
And she will report.
And she makes rounds.
And there's no retort.
Right to left boot.
One precedes the other.
I don't want the troops.
I don't need another.
Purporting stalwart diligence
Even if it claims her innocence.
At the top of every list.
As if nothing else exists.
Pledging her allegiance
To the utmost appeasement.
That's an order.
Stood still through squalls
Like she doesn't feel water.
Sun scorches like mortar.
Before taking it further,
She begs for me to hurt her.
How sick is this cadet?
Ringing wet with vigor.
She wont shake or shiver
Until I stand and deliver.
Lips quiver,
But no frown.
She won't break down.
She loves it.
Seething with anger.
Dashing through danger.
G.I. with geisha hair
Running this gauntlet affair.
She climbs endless stairs.
An audience of endless stares
As she bores through bare
And she really doesn't care.
Left. Right.
Warm days.
Not nights.
She says it feels right.
Devotion of emotions
So extreme, they're deemed obscenity.
Confinement is her liberty.
She lusts after captivity.
And it still rains.
There are still flames.
And there's no shame.
Just some war games.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
And she won't run.
And I will capture.
And it's light fun;
But there's no laughter.
High noon
Following the sunrise
that crept in after the moon.
She makes the platoon swoon.
Delicate and fine;
But she requests front line.
Top tier volunteer.
My cheerful concubine.
She's my favorite soldier;
Especially when heat smolders.
Soft, sweaty skin glistens.
I command. She listens.
I demand. She supplies
With lowered eyes, full hands,
Bent knees, full mouth
And an ambition void of doubt.
And we don't race.
But I chase after.
And I keep pace.
And I will snatch her.
Headboard and four pegs.
I love the way it feels.
Camouflage across her legs.
Soft, leather laced heels
That never grace the minefield.
Drove through her delicate domain
With little ease for pain.
I patrol her plains.
Shell shocked from the stains.
Soft, sticky shards.
Withdrew my fleet. Caught off guard.
More seductive shrapnel
Than one private can tackle.
Invasion at her post.
Crashed against the coast
With artillery to boast.
And she's out there.
And the air is muggy.
And she always dies;
But it's not bloody.
She throws silent shade.
Stealthy sonar grenades.
Soaked but heat seeking
Lodged in throats demeaning.
She trades belligerent blade
With the butterscotch brigade.
My jar head remains pretty
While scoping in on the prissy.
My sergeant hits her shimmy
Without moving her feet.
Under her quilted tent of sheets
is a meal ready to eat.
Treading trenches few have seen
Taking sips from her canteen.
She accepts every directive
And fulfills her prime objective.
And I touch down.
And she will report.
And she makes rounds.
And there's no retort.
Right to left boot.
One precedes the other.
I don't want the troops.
I don't need another.
Purporting stalwart diligence
Even if it claims her innocence.
At the top of every list.
As if nothing else exists.
Pledging her allegiance
To the utmost appeasement.
That's an order.
Stood still through squalls
Like she doesn't feel water.
Sun scorches like mortar.
Before taking it further,
She begs for me to hurt her.
How sick is this cadet?
Ringing wet with vigor.
She wont shake or shiver
Until I stand and deliver.
Lips quiver,
But no frown.
She won't break down.
She loves it.
Seething with anger.
Dashing through danger.
G.I. with geisha hair
Running this gauntlet affair.
She climbs endless stairs.
An audience of endless stares
As she bores through bare
And she really doesn't care.
Left. Right.
Warm days.
Not nights.
She says it feels right.
Devotion of emotions
So extreme, they're deemed obscenity.
Confinement is her liberty.
She lusts after captivity.
And it still rains.
There are still flames.
And there's no shame.
Just some war games.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
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