Saturday, May 16, 2015



I sway like a sea sick sailor
Each time I come into this room,
Breathing too deeply the stale air
Of legality in which I have no faith
A lost soul a sea of opinions
I cannot share,
Staring at the walls and floor
Like a scolded school boy,
Waiting for the crack of ruler
Over the back of my hands
For what goes on in my head.


I see sparks fly
When ever she moves
Shoulders covered with a shawl
That adds mystery to
Who she is
And her shape,
Old Fashion tinged with tease
Making me shiver
Though it is not cold
This shape of propriety
Making me ache to
Crawl inside and bend my shape
Around her shape,
To make other kinds of sparks fly


She always makes me shiver,
And ache so deep it feels
Like an earth quake
She, decorated and polished,
Floats in and out of this place
As if floating on air
Her pursed lips needing a key
To open
With me hoping

Mine will do

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