.
What is a poet to do
when his favourite muse
faints whilst making love,
a victim of passions fuse.

To carry on regardless?
Perhaps slap her lovely cheek?
Mouth 2 mouth no tongue?
Or maybe implore her to speak?

A lesser poet
shakes her anxiously
and writes a verse about prowess and spooning.

A True poet
carries on regardless
and writes a sonnet about his muse and swooning.



© Pagan Paul (23/05/18)

I said no to drugs once.
I looked a bag of **** right in the face
and, like a loving but firm father,
I said, "No."
I was really high.

My thoughts get messy,
My hands get sweaty.
My heart erupts within my chest.
It's all overwhelming at first,
then our lips touch
And there's a pause;
As our souls intertwine,
Ignoring all our flaws.
You are mine
And I am yours.