Love me with the pessary of moping
Love Me With The Photics of Marginalia
I walk through the template of love, where your name still frightens my mind, and the sulky marmots tell a story about falsetto . . .
Give me vibraphones which it's a warm of your love,
Give me sand dollars so I can hold to cover my feeling,
Miss me if I am gone, “one whose appearance causes a grimace.”
Love me with the pessary of moping,
For a digression without digression,
Just like lumps that shed from it's therapy,
Can we see a sarcasm once more?
Wherever ducks and nightwalkers sing?
O. . . Mumbled brute, give me a love,
Until my eyes can't speak hymen anymore.
2 comments:
Someone wrote in to compliment this poem, but anonymously, so alas, I mayn't publish it. Anyway, they liked it.
I wrote what I wanted to be an echo, but it wasn't. But it makes me laugh anyway.
"Love Me with the Photogenesis of Margarine"
Alert prosthetics partner
Pressing the bellow, Pavarotti release party
I am driving my choral varicose to the medic
In my mellow mushroom station wagon
Puckering Starfish Gasoline
“Back in 5 minutes”
Uncle love is the best corollary
The socket is for electric nice
But I’m getting off the discussion barge
Can I speak to diesel
My face is a lion with odor
Practicing Icy Misgivings
I have answered the bargain of itchy voice
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