The cunning linguist

Speaks a language that is without words

Without alphabet and dialect,

Whose only real communication is

More and less,

Yes and no.

The cunning linguist

Regards the new as uncharted territories,

Islands ripe for conquest,

And the old as a familiar taste

Like fine wine

Or fine dining.

The cunning linguist

Can bring entire landscapes to yield

Pulling mortal constructs-

Morality, piety, correctness and control-

Into the depths of hedonism

And true desire.

The cunning linguist

Conquers all,

Whether queen or matron,

Mother or virgin,

Tainting nothing

While bringing all to fruition.

The cunning linguist

Is the master of his art,

The mistress of her magic,

The tender of a complicated land

That creates sweet nectars

And gentle flowers.

An Entirely Inappropriate Poem


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s