Burnt by Love Although it gave me a nice complexion – lying with you that balmy afternoon – I’m sorry I didn’t wear protection before embarking in that direction, with my skin swelling like a red balloon. And though it gave me a nice complexion, its bittersweet fruit, besides infection, was a prickling eruption that would soon make me wish that I had worn protection. Though I should accept what’s past correction – since your sexy bikini made me swoon with affection for your nice complexion – I should have managed with circumspection when clocking in beside you at high noon. I’m sorry I didn’t wear protection, or at least that you had voiced objection when both of us squashed qualms that balmy June. For though it gave me a nice complexion, and a glowing sense of resurrection amidst a warmth that seemed so opportune, I’m sorry I didn’t wear protection, at least when flush, after my erection of the sand castle. Though by the next moon, I’ll be father of a nice complexion, I’m sorry I didn’t wear protection.
Born & bred in New Jersey, Frank De Canio worked for many years in New York City. He loves music from Bach to Amy Winehouse. Shakespeare is his consolation, writing his hobby. As poets, he likes Dylan Thomas, Allen Ginsberg, and Sylvia Plath. He also attends a Café Philo in Lower Manhattan every other week.
Grand Little Things 