Pulang Bato

red stone, acryllic, try the metallic
one, nope, the pulpy, the fleshy ones,
three little red riding hoods, oopps,
no, i mean the three tiny tips of
the tipsy trips we once had at the balcony,
whine, wine, whiskey, and rhum, so much sparkle
of the perks at the jerk of the parking lot.

a lot, i need a lot of the reddish cheek
of the red stone, something seething
teething, and too lovely for my skin
slimy, slippery, streaming, steaming,
i love every scent of you. I jump in there.

There were flowers and butterflies.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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