Saint-Raphael, France

oh and how he came to loath her,
filled with heated sperm
she refused to taste,
as he stood watching his erect penis
swell into a giant head.
but at first she was a trophy,
and his time was spent
drawing her into an affectionate sketch near
his summer studio on the productive coast.
it would have been unthinkable to color her face
as an emerging vagina,
with her smile turned into a vertical slit
of pink and rose hues,
her pouting mouth uncoiling a seductive tongue.
no, he would love his mistress
with an innovative lust, but
not the bride:  for her, the traditionally representative way,
intrinsically feminine
and radiating with sunny freshness.
but then the problems!
from his balcony, he saw the physical and psychological monsters
climbing to her window,
opening the view, and one took her leg and one
took her mind,
setting the stage for his theatrical ballets on the beach
where one mistress loved to swim.
and the bandstand
below his opened window had a pagodalike top and beyond
was a sea of blue ink as far as his eye could see.
with this and more he would eventually have his metamorphic way,
distorting even the first wife.