Bare Sark

When the Vikings came, the

most feared were the

naked ones, the

baresarkers, so

enamoured of battle they

threw themselves on the foe,

fearlessly, just as you

threw yourself on me,

eyes aglint,

battle-ready,

bare sark.


 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Laugh Lines

Despite being naked, she was sweating
in that overheated apartment where she could
blossom exotically, shucking the
chrysalis of motherhood, those
worries about the pooch of her stomach, the
slow droop of her breasts, the
less than faint lines begun when
she used to laugh.

Slippery with the sweat and oil, she
squirmed from under him, made him
chase her, wanting to be caught and
pinned in his cabinet, not bothered being a
specimen, but just happy to be
laughing again.