Taste of Freedom

Grape juice spilt on white carpet

and smeared across pouty lips

of a silky maid. Bra snapping,

freeing the bosom from their

 

virgin alps. Cry in descent

when seeing the seed planter

who forsook and mistook love

with a broken branch. The path

 

among the tranquil greenery

with painted daisies. The man

standing boldly with pants dropped

With rent drizzling at the knees.

 

Daddy, who is not father,

returns from no windows and

decorated metal teeth, clenched

tight as her fists of freedom

 

When the liquid splatters on

pretty rich threads  walked upon

daily by the maid . The man

unhinges a bra no more.

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