Let's workshop this poem about a raw and tender moment shared between a young father and his infant.
Sick fuck. And ONCE AGAIN, HOW CAN IT BE POETRY IF IT DOESN'T RHYME. I can do better in an instant and even with the same trauma content.
His pinkie, rawly suckled,
Burned with white-hot might;
Eyes, like a shark's, unfazed,
Locked in a focused sight.
Facial cords tightly wound,
Pulsing, they made their stand;
Tongue's dance, unyielding, strong,
Welcoming more to its land.
Ravenous cheeks drew inward,
With each fervent, gummy pull;
A dance so singular, so wild,
In sealed insanity, full.
The vortex, so deeply primal,
Grew in its fierce spree;
Every cell of this new life
Yearned for its life's decree.
How could a father resist,
Seeing such fervent plea?
Not letting the infant take
Every last bit of he?
Sick fuck. And ONCE AGAIN, HOW CAN IT BE POETRY IF IT DOESN'T RHYME. I can do better in an instant and even with the same trauma content.
His pinkie, rawly suckled,
Burned with white-hot might;
Eyes, like a shark's, unfazed,
Locked in a focused sight.
Facial cords tightly wound,
Pulsing, they made their stand;
Tongue's dance, unyielding, strong,
Welcoming more to its land.
Ravenous cheeks drew inward,
With each fervent, gummy pull;
A dance so singular, so wild,
In sealed insanity, full.
The vortex, so deeply primal,
Grew in its fierce spree;
Every cell of this new life
Yearned for its life's decree.
How could a father resist,
Seeing such fervent plea?
Not letting the infant take
Every last bit of he?