Damselflies flutter in clinging irridescent hoops,
as frogs layer up in the shallows,
everywhere, movement and energy.
Just below the surface, the water column thrums
with the hyper-charged sizzle of
sex-talk.
The talk becomes maleable in
the thick medium of water and especially
the subject of sex which is only thinly disguised
as an interest in nest-building.
But the season is short and
as frosted fall mornings
overtake summer sunsets,
talk turns idly to hibernation
and slowing metabolism.
Finally the long
confinement under winter's icy plain,
and the interminable wait for spring,
when coldwater species slough sluggish
sentences into pristine pools
of virgin snowmelt;
readying milt and roe
for the coming season of lust.
A contest entry
- the language of fish by Cat.
500 points, ended November 1, 2007, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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you turned a fish poem into a sex poem..
high five!
m -
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all language is sex
what else is there?
"Hey baby... what's your species? Your nest or mine..."
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