[photopress:75014086_a09bb3de4e.jpg,thumb,alignleft]I offer you now an excerpt from a Rod McKuen poem I ran across titled “Rehearsal for a Sonnet on Your Body”:
…Were I a cardinal, a pope, a bishop used as pawn
I’d do you as a final prayer, then tucking you
beneath my arm be gone from church and
catechism contradiction and the dawn.
Comes now the taking of the wine and wafers.
Whose blood and body is it?
I leave the altar cowardly as week-old custard
crusty and with perspiration round my edges.
The choir goes crazy
chanting penance, penance.
And I leave you with some advice: when penning ballads to your dearest love, avoid phrases like “I’d do you” and steer well clear of comparing anything in your poem to old rotting egg dishes.