Lewd Romance Poem by Daniel Ionita

A mighty gladiator of this life,
I carry through the dark a wilted wreath -
like muddy kisses, hanging in the evening,
sewn by some crazy gods in hell beneath,
which cutting in my thought, so long ago,
through bitter struggles pushed in velvet rage -
and lying still beside some flaccid bosoms -
paying for sleazy dreams a handsome wage,
while wooing lazily in a sordid fashion
disgusting wenches laying on a couch,
who carried on their belly timeless circles
and breathed a putrid odour from their pouch -
decaying bones squashed in a glass, asunder,
slurping some boil, devious and vile
and rummaging through hangovers of bodies
tailored from cursings and from abject bile.

But then, already rusty from the crying
and sacrificing in this holy storm,
I would awake in utterings of passion
and smitten, I would desecrate your form.

Today, in sickly solitude and gloom
I lay beneath the linden tree and rest
I sing old tales of bravery and doom,
and play some lewd romances full of zest,
of men who fight for life's illusive plume
and for a handsome woman's ample breast.