In the emptiness      of a deprived soul,
there is an ocean     without its water.

My heart beats out a rhythm to the song on the radio,
my lips mimicking the words as we drive.
And no matter where we go,
how far we get from home,
I know I'll have your hand in mine the entire ride.

My husband bought some skinny jeans,
The kind **** Jagger’d wear,
Which cling real tight from ankle
To the thigh and derriere.

They came today, from Amazon;
He couldn’t wait to try them,
Especially to prove me wrong.
(I’d told him not to buy them.)

I must admit that they look great
And so I couldn’t scoff
But it was pretty funny
When he tried to take them off.

It took a few attempts with lots of
Tugs and yanks and wiggles,
Providing me with quite a bout
Of told-you-so-type giggles.

I’m sure to him he’ll get rewards
In compliments a’plenty,
But he would have it easier
If he were more like 20!

I inform you if you knew Emily before,
she is now gone, she is now dead.
We found her lifeless body on the dusty floor;
ink injected in veins and mouth choking on lead.
All that was left was coloured poems,
the pages only lacking a shade of grey.
The same messages repeated and cloned,
and written out in several different ways.

You left
your dirt
at my door

and when I tried to
sweep you away,
tears fell,
making mud.

How typical,
I sighed,
your filth and
my cries --

the rancid glue that
stains lives.