accept love as a
city with an
entangled highway
in her hair
I hear symbals
in the morning
I feel szleepy
in the evenings
a tad guilty
but, not kidding,
I sang praises to her
two ducks somehow
in the Ocean,
In Fantasy land,
where some poets are,
cocks like up ta here
balls down to molten earth
unmanageable mounds
forgive me butt,
who will get there?
No comments:
Post a Comment