~ two-bit poetry on a stick ~ |
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The muse she broke my heart. There is no inspiration. I wish I could just take-- yes, take words like they were dancing in front of me, seducing and cajoling me to choose them. Words dolled up with adjectives, alive with devout, deviant, devious motives, manipulative and cruel. Here is my pen and here is my soul. How much to bed words for the night? Lucious rhymes from lips blood red, breasts I'd rather bury my nose in instead of a Winterson. Arms lulling my pen into a utopian stupour of quatrains and couplets, left to frolic until dawn. My pen, and my words. Steam - 19.01.07 |
-- friends --
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-- diaryland -- notifylist -- |
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©2005 two-bit poet ©2007 image rdk ledrew |
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