Insomnia in a serving,
I have it with a head full of thoughts.
Ready pen in hand,
contemplating where they should land.

Caffeine in a gulp,
unruly chatter in the background as soundtrack.
Landing words haphazardly in ink...
Scrawls and scribbles of what I think.

Coffee breath in a cup...
A delectable complement
to a favoured pastime.
Enjoying this very moment,
as I jot down this last flavoured rhyme.

I'm a sad person
With a messed up mind
I am in a happy place
But I'm so far behind
Away from society
And what they say is 'right'
I do my best to stay away,
on my own path- the future is bright

I get the chills as your hand touches my waist,
Looking at your lips, I just want a taste

She has a place for me in her heart
I've heard the others say the same
Yet I still
May rest my head
Where she would stay
Whilst all the others are long gone
Heart is a heavy word
Reminiscent of stranger times
Comforting to say the least

A shackle and a briefcase
Share her room with me
One wonders if an invitation is real
When not in writing
Enticement is real
As real as flesh and blood
As real as her
Laced ******* with frills
Bluey green
A colour best described as teal
Or was it turquoise?
Though that never mattered
Not important to me
Not a single detail

I told her not to be afraid of living
She said fearlessness is for the dead
I enquired about the living dead
She laughed
We are the only monsters
That feed off of life
We are the only demons
That go bump in the night

She is a goddess
A truly **** mess
I would like to pay homage
To the warmth between her legs
But there are many a pilgrim
And it is well documented that
I hold nothing sacred
Though I do have her favor
For now
Yet my invitation remains unanswered
I never knew a briefcase
Could be so ominous

Though she'll never be my queen
She still ***** me like I'm king

When I first met her
God put a speaking trumpet
straight up against my ear
and stated
very slowly
in that Godly voice
that is a mix of
the ocean's roar
and the singing of
Barry White

"This is the one
you've been looking for."

The stars were in on it
bubbling like champagne
in the night sky
singing a sweet accompaniment
a singular poem
of one word:
Yes.

What would you do?

I took the only possible path:
Surrender.

Gave up my wandering ways
quit my womanizing
got hitched straight away
tied the knot
didn't know a thing
about knot tying
but the **** thing held.

And here we are.
Poet number one
that would be her.

Poet number two-and-a-half
me

Marriage solved nothing
brought more questions
than answers
more unfinished business
than completed tasks

Yet at this late stage
a sense that against all odds
against the evidence
of my hands
against every argument
presented by the priest
who reluctantly married us

Something has gone
wonderfully right.

The stars,
dear friends,
truly know their business.

They send you to hell
       And bring you back
With
      Words
They conjure
Your deepest thoughts
       Into the same
             Flaws
    And then
        They destroy
Or

       Make you
          With their double
               Sharp
                    Swords
    POETS ARE EVIL
©EVNA LUNA