Victorians Don’t Pierce Their Septums, Except for Love, Poetry by Aaron Schultz

Genre: Love, Romance, Relationship

Victorians Don’t Pierce Their Septums, Except for Love
by Aaron Schultz

When I first saw you in those light
plaid pants, tight fitting to your form,
my friends wanted to kick your ass. “Where
did this Bozo come from? Let’s waste
him,” they said. But that smell… Your smell…
Strangely attractive, yet beyond my conception.
I called my boys off their conception
and walked towards you, my combat boots suddenly light.
I slammed my PBR, and grabbed your smelly
butt. I couldn’t resist. You didn’t conform,
in style or attitude, with the rest of these waist-
oid punk rockers. You were so punk in your odd wear.

Oh, my pasty, rebel lover… Where
the hell did I put my con(tra)ception?
I misplaced it last night while wasted
and thrashing to punk. I broke the light
with my head, bouncing on the bed. “Bad Form!”
you yelled, as I rubbed my smell
on you while grabbing your mutton chops. “Smell
me!” I screamed. You lost the where-
withal to speak as you wrestled my dark form.

“Don’t burn your time with this rebel.” I said. “Misconceptions
of society…” You interrupted me, “your tender light
has defiled me in a most delicious waste.”
As you grabbed my waist
again, I could smell
your sweat – sweet, salty and light.

This morning I was naked, so I wore
your frock to the bathroom. It’s a preconception,
I know, but this love form
is a mohawk in a frock. Your form
of dirty talk makes me waste
all my fuckin’ conceptions
of guys with tattoos and smelly
cigarette breath. But I’ll always wear
leather and avoid the light.

You make me high, like a light huff off chloroform.
I don’t know where, or how, this love could ever waste
away, but someday, I want our smells to end in a conception.

* * * * *

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