Shades of Paraphilia

Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath fram’d strange fellows in her time.

—Shakespeare, from The Merchant of Venice

Indulging acrotomophilic whims
Is likely to involve the loss of limbs.

An agalmatophile prefers to sin
With marble statues or a mannequin.

Anililagnia’s a ready means
To rapture for a boy who’s in his teens.

Now, coprophilia is not a taste
Acquired by those turned off by fecal waste.

Good news for folks whose thing is hugging trees:
A dendrophile gets off with every breeze.

Eproctophilia’s the queen of arts
To those preoccupied with sniffing farts,

But klismaphilia involves reliance
On what is kindly called hydraulic science.

The list goes on, but all good things must end,
And no one knows what’s coming round the bend.

On metrophilia I pin my hopes,
Awaiting someone who adores my tropes.

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Over the past eight years, hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Australia and India. He is inordinately fond of single malt Scotch whisky.