Jerrybaldy
12-17-2010, 07:05 PM
Of all the literature forums,
in all the world,
you had to walk into mine.
Your curvaceous Q
caught my eye.
We danced as lyrics
poured from the jukebox
and twisted about us.
We plucked some here and there,
from the air
and made them our own.
I bought us cappucinos
and we stirred
in sweet words.
We spat at each other in rhetoric,
to see each letter,
crash between our lips
and shatter to the floor.
The young would gather the shards
and create bastard poems
with the sticky stuff of youth.
As people left,
we would watch from windows
as they bled a sad trail
of lost lines.
We sucked each other's similes
until they were dry like
the ink of writers block.
I spelt out c a r e s s
and the word
touched you everywhere
until its sibilant finale
made you blow 'O's.
I threw X's at you
and you came in a metaphoric
petite mort.
A poet in the corner
spelt out o v e r
and turned out the light
but we whispered louder
in the dark.
I imagined you were gone
and you went.
I looked for redemption
around the room
but all were busy,
penning poetry.
in all the world,
you had to walk into mine.
Your curvaceous Q
caught my eye.
We danced as lyrics
poured from the jukebox
and twisted about us.
We plucked some here and there,
from the air
and made them our own.
I bought us cappucinos
and we stirred
in sweet words.
We spat at each other in rhetoric,
to see each letter,
crash between our lips
and shatter to the floor.
The young would gather the shards
and create bastard poems
with the sticky stuff of youth.
As people left,
we would watch from windows
as they bled a sad trail
of lost lines.
We sucked each other's similes
until they were dry like
the ink of writers block.
I spelt out c a r e s s
and the word
touched you everywhere
until its sibilant finale
made you blow 'O's.
I threw X's at you
and you came in a metaphoric
petite mort.
A poet in the corner
spelt out o v e r
and turned out the light
but we whispered louder
in the dark.
I imagined you were gone
and you went.
I looked for redemption
around the room
but all were busy,
penning poetry.