This poem was written for late-night poets. It’s adult in nature, but has a pearl of wisdom that I think is worthy of the blog.
Years of search on scorching sands
for the best buoys below latex,
offering his grin and his whitest lotion.
Still, lots of jellyfish swam on his shores,
stinging him with their pretty things.
Why couldn’t he find a pearl,
a soft round nob of joy?
Clamming up just thinking of
making out with a lady that’s coy.
He picked up a few shiny shells,
kept them with condoms in his top drawer.
Would leave their lacy, pink panties
piled up on his floor;
get his thrills by inserting a new toy.
Why couldn’t he find a pearl;
a soft round nob of joy?
Clamming up just thinking of
making out with a lady that’s coy.
How can you find perfection
skimming sand flies off the shore?
If you want connection, you must
dive deeper than before.
Hold your breath and paddle straight,
swoop her from ocean floor;
shuck her heart;
crack her open;
seize her nob of joy.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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