Mark Twain and the One that Got Away

“Hey Maria, how’s it going?”

“Oh, hello Stephanie, quite well
thank you. And yourself?”

“Well, Maria, I must say
I am rather flumoxed.”

“Flumoxed?”

“Yes.
Rather.”

“Ahh… I see.”

“Hmmm”

“Well… don’t just leave me
here to flutter around
in my britches, what’s
the who-see-done-it
that’s caused all
this great flumoxing
in your oven?”

“What?”

“Y’know, the cat-caller
the bird-catcher
the Roger-Dodger
stirring up the trouble
with your under-bubble?”

“What?”

“Oh come on, I’m speaking
plain English, dear girl.
The man-child
with the stubble,
hand on gutteral
pronounced leaping
sleeping and eating
crumbs off your blouse?”

“Oh Maria, you mean
whose the man
whose made me so flumoxed
who had me by the tuchas
who insisted on giving
me his lance and thrust?”

“Ahh my dear girl, now
you see the meaning clearly
yes who is He
this Sheep seeking
to enter the gates of
thine women’s clothing
to taste?”

“Well, he be no other
than Mark Twain of course!”

“Mark Twain!
The Heavens you say!”

“Heavens I say not!
For he did not hit the spot
you could say however
he was quite off the Mark
though the ember was lit
soon did die the spark.”

“Ahh, so you mean you didn’t
get off?”

“Off his bed I did!
That much is true
off his lap no he would not
possess me like a thing-a-ma-jig
in his knap-sack
I’ve got my own strap
for ye flap.”

“What?”

“Maria, I’m saying I’ve got
my own way-ing
way-in way-down deep
I need not his twaining
so to speak.”

“O how speakest thou!”

“Speakest thou I do
for no this sir
this Mark Twain
did not do me, did he
do you?”

“Heaven forbid!
He did me not neither
no entrance given
only the nearest
exit light-blinking
this Mark Twain roughian
scoundrel and scally-wag
I too sent him home
to alone
let his tail wag.”

“Ahh dear Maria, then it
is true of us both
that we did not give
him butter for his toast
we let him roast
in his own juices
and ourselves our own
aka we blue-balled
him and told him
to go home.”

“Indeed, you are right
Stephanie sweet princess
We can both say with
great pride that we
did not lay Sir Mark Twain
last night, we doth
hurt his pride perhaps,
by not giving him our
front-side
nor our backs.”

“Well put, Maria
you put out to me now
loquaciously tongue-delivery
if only he could see
how
he would surely be
on his knees
writing the adventures
of palm-squeeze
while Tom Sawyer
and Huck Finn
were off playing in the trees.”

“Trees or leaves
either way it doesn’t phase me
I told him if he’s hungry
to go find a pastry
besides he was too paisty
for my liking
and so I spent the afternoon
biking
along the lakeside
where the fish swim
as he brewed
and stewed
in what-could-have-been.”

“Yes, for a man of such
great verbosity he could
not romanticize me
the depths he could not reach
with his pole
along my Mississippi
Come one?
No, come none
but still a girl must have her fun
and thus I do propose
to you
my dearest girl fellow
turner-downer
let us turn our own frowns
right-up-around-er
delighting in each-other
like in a scene from
the Lysistrata
your legs I will climb
like a Rapunzelian tower
if only you will have
me in a crazed
lesbianic shower?”

“Stephanie, please control
yourself til we get home
then your hill and dale
I will roam
while Mark Twain
continues to write
his plays and poems,
we shall drift in and out of ecstasy
un-known to him
that Connecticut Yankee
his frog jumped too early
stained pantaloons
un-worthy!
I go now for
the real thing
your divine plumb-pudding.”

“Oh but Maria, I hope
you don’t think I’m
in bad taste.”

“That we shall see soon enough,
below-the-waist.”

“Oh you cad, you coy girl!”

“Shhh… never-more
let our own
bed-time story unfurl.”