He-She

He she
Not one
Or the other.
He she the parts
I Cant wait to discover.

Oh! you Alpha male
oh you keeper of secret stale
we know what you want
between my legs the sparkling font
of youth
the truth be known
on your face shown
fascination

and you are not alone young man
if soldiers could pot me
then in a can I am
on tap
for female lips sometimes lack
and that is how i fill a gap
that is how you stray from track
of hetro roads

paved in black or white
you croaking toads
attract
i say blur the lines
and fly a kite of pink
I say bugger
what the neighbours think
and what will they know and miss secretly
nothing if you fly to bang cock
nothing if a stag do gives excuse
to block inquisitive channels
to feel the parcel parts of female sleuth
go on search for a clue
between my legs I beg of you
feel
oh! no encouragement needed you uneven keel
you are not alone
in she male real attraction
wow
its working then
the clock is ticking
you have till ten
or when this cigarette burns out.

This is a startling ode to metrosexuality -- inquisitive, instinctual sexuality with a touch of knowingness, and superficial sophistication -- a call for the regular deployment of social 'out takes,' those moments when people are given social licence to behave in a way that is normally supressed. It's odd that all the 'rituals' allowing the breaking of taboos (stag parties etc) are very similar throughout most cultures which suggests they are essential, the tasting of normally forbidden fruit before a return to 'correct' behaviour -- isolated and controlled instances of transgression. This clever, edgy poem calls for the maintenance of blurred edges -- vile bodies -- as norm. Provocative indeed, Pete!