The Age of Our Consent

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[To all you lovers in an “age-gap” relationship, wherever you are, may happiness be with you always.]

 

O, my delicious nymph, on a sheet

of virginal purity and purely replete

with blood-red knee-socks

and knickers of innocent rose;

with ponies tethering your locks

as my fingers rub your toes.

 

I long to taste thee like strawberries ripe

and ice-cream soft but firm to bite,

and lick like lollies sweet pert breasts

then lay a kiss on your lower cherry lip

with your cool hands upon my chest,

as we love in our secret friendship.

 

Ours is a passion like falling snow.

Ours is a desire no-one can know.

Ours is a union nearly forbidden.

Where Cupid sees not a lover’s age,

we reside, older and younger as one

and write words of love on our page

of life here on this bed, under this sun.

 

Malek Montag

14th April 2017

 

Picture Credit: http://ell.h-cdn.co/assets/cm/15/02/768×511/

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The Closer the Heart

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The closer the heart

the deeper bitter words cut

in anger’s fury.

 

Hands fold and eyes glaze

under pressure from anguish

when a young heart hurts.

 

I feel the burn here,

feel the damage near, hard in

my serenity.

 

Malek Montag

13th April 2017

 

Picture Credit: http://www.menshealth.com/

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Not Here…

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We went out to the theatre

and saw something by Pinter.

My wife wanted us to go

since it was her kind of show.

A drink after and a bite to eat:

expensive time with the box-seat.

 

The babysitter wasn’t my idea

but I enjoy this girl sitting near

me, driving Clair home in my car.

Wife’s in bed; we might go far,

further than the wife’d know:

as far, as deep, as I desire to go.

 

Here where I can do without a care,

my fingers touch Clair’s downy hair.

I hear in my ear her submissive sigh

and my hand grips her tender thigh,

feeling towards her tight elastic band

till she halts my tremble-eager hand.

 

“Not here…” she whispers in my ear.

Beyond the wipers, I spy a lonely tear

from a heart-felt fear on a cold night.

Whither our love in the hot dawn light?

Run like old Hum and dear Lola Haze,

then rot in a cell for too many days?

 

Her breath comes expectant and steady,

the sweet girl near me is more than ready.

But what of me, I, with the most to lose?

I sit with a wheel and two paths to choose.

Have the innocent girl with wanton lust?

Or keep a score of years becoming dust?

 

 

Malek Montag

12th April, 2017

 

 

Picture Credit: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/

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White Gossamer

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White gossamer

bellows in the warm breeze

that brings in sweet air,

that ushers in the outside world.

Sit on the floor

a cushion for comfort.

Bare skin soaking

the cooling April draft

and listen…

Not a sound nearby

except for an odd trapped fly

But hear noise from afar

A distance roar of a car…

Next-doors dog barking…

The lovers over the road larking…

Mother berating child errant…

Coarse words of workless apparent…

A scooter bursts into life…

The unemployable have their strife…

Hear song-birds chatter…

And all my travails scatter…

In my mind,

in my head,

over my bed

and far away from me for the day

leaving the road of my journey

free of debris, for a clear way

for dreams of sweet serenity.

 

Malek Montag

11th April, 2017

 

Picture Credit: http://www.mocp.org/media//Kertesz_A/

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A Touch of R&R

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Sugar rushes saturating my head,

where no sweetness touches my grinning lips.

Opportunity swirls with dreams of bed

at dawn as my neighbours act like steamships

and I can imagine the whole nation

toiling away while I’m on vacation.

 

Malek Montag

10th April, 2017

 

Picture Credit: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/ Couple Relaxing on a Bed via http://www.murraymitchell.com

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What to Do on a Sunday Afternoon

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Chatter and intrigue,

at tables close together:

Relaxing café.

 

Rasping bitterness

of dark brown water steaming:

Glorious fresh coffee.

 

Teeth press into soft

supple surface sweet in taste:

Love apple Danish.

 

Malek Montag

9th April, 2017

 

Picture Credit: http://68.media.tumblr.com/ teacoffeebooks.tumblr.com

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Ballade of the Pausenbrot Café

 

(Our Cakes Reach the Parts Other Cakes Cannot Reach)

 

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Pain sears the stomach wall

As a customer begins to fall

From his table, from low stool.

Onto the floor he does slump,

His aching mouth begins to pump

Words and drool in a gooey lump.

Barista steps over with some cake,

Dropping crumbs like snowflake

Into his mouth, his malady to slake.

 

Malek Montag

8th April, 2017

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