The Warm Scent of Tropical Nights

poetry © 2001 Gary

The scent of pineapple wafts
across the lagoon,
hints of coconut and vanilla
ride a soft breeze.

I join my sailor-man,
chief harpooner
from the Boston whaler,
Lady Kathleen.

He plays with my halter,
nipples tweaked,
his hand creeps up my skirt
to my inner thigh.

I slap his fingers in play,
take his arm
to lead him under the banyan tree
behind the taro.

He whispers of how he will
show me ….

Darling, the cookies are ready.
Do you want some while they are hot?

Uh, yes, John, give me a moment.

Sigh, and I was so enjoying my bath,
and my sailor-man’s harpoon…
but then why not the real thing?

crash, a plate of cookies drop
swish, a towel slips down a wet body
ooof, bodies crash onto a bed

I will slide down his harpoon
we both shout
"God, there, she blows!"
till evening.

When I will feed him crumbs,
raisins and pecans
until he reloads his harpoon
as the scent

of pineapple, coconut and love
wafts across the bay.
Background Image: Tropical Shore by Unknown available at Art.Com
The Warm Scent of Tropical Nights © 2001 Gary. All Rights Reserved. Do not reproduce or distribute without the expressed written consent of the author. Poem used here is reprinted by permission of the author, Gary.
Gary Blankenship is a retired federal managers whose new avocation is writing prose and poetry. His work has appeared on Writer's Hood, Clean Sheets, Electric Wine, and Sensitive Poetry. He won the ENE Dark Fantasy contest and his short story placed fourth in the Preditors & Editors 1999 Reader's Poll. He loves to talk about writing as much as write and to play writing games. He spends too much time in workshops.
Back to Menu
All Text, Codes, Graphics © 2001-2002 ENE. All Rights Reserved.