all is up.
a dreamy boy fills your legs
with such a torso-
he acts like your tongue is hard candy-
and the crust in your eyes is cinnamon.
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Tickle your toes. . .
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wide-eyed and curious, he peeks from his shell with seaweed speckles, where 8 monarch butterflies landed permanently. he puts his footing on...
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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all is up. a dreamy boy fills your legs with such a torso- he acts like your tongue is hard candy- and the crust in your eyes is cinnamon.
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner.... -
in the shadowy enclave- you see fireflies. I see stars.
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there is a small leaf over your eye and yet you can still see me.
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Recently I have been really attempting to delve into what it means to be a poet. Jim Morrison once wanted to be a poet, and look where it go...
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
Out the window, I thought I saw Emily pale, gawking. a green T-shirt. bouncing firey springs on her head.
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strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
Poets United Contributor
well....gooooood morning indeed. a very graceful description of such an intimate moment, thanks for writing
ReplyDeleteLol...
ReplyDeleteYour dreamy boy is getting all blushed out here. He knows he doesn't compare to the foxy fantasy lady he has in his hands right now.
ReplyDeleteLOL...wow.
ReplyDeletemmm...perfect. delicious little piece!
ReplyDelete:)
ReplyDelete