Lyric Poet
Romantic 2

Poetry by Brent Futo

Copyright Brent Futo 1980-2003.

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"Watching My Lover Get Dressed"

Watching her dress...

She doesn't know I watch her,
Through the door, down the hall.
In awe, I stand here always,
Of her frame, so sleek, so small.
She doesn't know I see her
Greaceful back, flowing hair.
And when she turns to greet me,
That her figure takes my air.
She doesn't know I know her,
Every curve, as I trace,
With my mind, her body,
Lingering on every place.
She doesn't know such beauty,
On this earth, does exist;
For she will never stand here,
Watching God's best work like this.

"Blind Date"

Love struck him down...

Love struck him down,
Like Saul on the road to Damascus.
Love comes around,
Without even calling to ask us.
There at his door,
She offered her earthly possessions.
He wanted more--
She quickly became his obsession.
Slain by her grace,
He fell to his knees in contrition.
Lost in her face,
His heart was engulfed in submission.
Trapped by her trance,
He lay in her arms there together.
He took a chance,
Then let fate find and bind them forever.
Love struck them down,
Like Saul on the road to Damascus.
Love comes around,
Without even calling to ask us.

"She Is My Heroin"

I inject her in my soul...

She is my heroin,
My opiate of choice.
From the first taste of her,
Her blood was in my voice.
She is my warm syringe,
Fine acrid-crystalled grains,
Purified in silver spoons,
I plunge her in my veins.
She takes me to a place,
Where floating on a lake,
I slip into a dream,
From which I won't awake.
Peace and tranquility
Are siblings of my soul.
She medicates my mind,
And renders my heart whole.
Just give me one more dose,
Of those addictive lips.
Send me a lifetime of
These sweet, seductive trips.

"Watching Turner Classics with My Beloved"


She moves with a grace that makes Audrey Hepburn
Look like a clumsy and bumbling fool.
Her regal persona makes even Grace Kelly,
Look like a peasant with no one to rule.
Her sweet spirit makes a Doris Day story
Read like an evil and horrible scroll.
Her womanly body makes Norma Jean's figure,
Look rather plain, and boyishly droll.
Her sauciness makes Sophia Loren's swagger,
Seem rather tame in contrast to her fire.
She heats up my screen like a red-hot Ann Margaret,
Riding my private Streetcar Named Desire.
She longs for a man, as dashing as Bogart,
Charming and handsome as Cary Grant,
As sweet and impassioned as young Jimmy Stewart,
Who says all the things that, all other men can't.
I wish I could be him, this celluloid god,
And kiss her sweet lips, as slow credits roll.
If I win this part as, her leading male lover,
I will not be acting:  I'll read from the soul.

"A Form Unadorned"

A form unadorned

My eyes have seen the glory of your unadorned sweet form.
You have skin as fine and fragrant as the day that you were born.
Your indigenous adornment is the best you've ever worn.
You take my breath away.
My hands have brushed your body in its purest natural state.
It intoxicates my fingers as they linger there and stay.
I'm in awe of such a fortune that affords me such a fate.
I thank God every day.
My mind has raced to capture every movement that you make.
My desire for you will follow every single step you take.
Seperation from your presence is a torturous, longing ache.
You bring me to my knees.
My senses are exploding as I drown beneath your eyes.
By comparison, all other loves are foolish childhood lies.
I will sail with you to heaven in the moment that we die.
I'm yours eternally.

Copyright Brent Futo 1980-2003.