How I have missed you.
How you smell.
How you taste.
How you feel in my hand.
How you liberate me like no other.
How you make me laugh.
How you make me cry.
How you sit with me through lonely nights and sunsets.
How you quench my desire.
Ah,
My sweet, sweet vino

she walked toward
me in those ancient *******
******* grandma

GF: "It's not you, its me!"
BF: "You're right! It is you!
GF: "WHAAT!"



copyright: r. riddle 06-29-15

She always telleth me
Baby
Just goeth with the floweth.

Baby looketh at me,
I'm flowing
I'm flowing
I'm flowing......

Now watch mine poetry flow
Ha ha ha....

I play a one-stringed fiddle
To orchestrate my piddle.

At St John's church in the year of 1843
The priest Father O'Day couldn't rise off of his knees
The congregation did attempt to stand the man upright
Yet he'd not be relieved of this his stuck plight

Some in the congregation checked out in the back
Hoping against all hope that it wasn't that
But the sacramental wine was filled up to the brim
Which had them wonder further as to what was wrong with him

Like the sculpture of Mary Magdalene his position was set
Of the rigid state he'd never ever forget
All the alter boys offered prayers for a solution
Being quite disturbed by O'Day's poor kneeling elocution

Was this a trance or was he deep in prayer
Given over to the circumstance did it really matter
They called up Mother Superior to ask of her advice
As it was fish Friday, she said some other time

From out of the fathers prayer book a letter it did drop
The contents in it was not news that he could readily cop
A decrease in his annual stipend had on this day been proposed
On reading about it his knees quickly became indisposed

As he wondered how he would pay for his chalet in France
Or the expensive clothes he liked to wear to the local dance
Along with his butlers and half a dozen maids
In all of his high living never once did he think to save

A litany of poor monetary decisions had brought O'Day to his knees
No divine intervention would undo his futile freeze
Coveting the high-life on a paltry priestly wage
Would awaken him to a lesson of that more like a sage

Instead of falling into all man's sinful desires
He should have first consulted with his Higher Power
We all see it so plainly there's not much you can say
Except another valuable lesson learned from Father O'day

_

That **** alarm again,
I roll out of bed
not wanting to wake you
it was a late night,
you need the rest

I shower and get
dressed for work
then make my way
through the dark
into the kitchen

As quietly as I can
I pour the flakes
into a bowl
add milk and sugar,
yep, breakfast

I turn and am startled
you are smiling at me,
then kiss me with so much passion
It would burn my toast,
had been making some

Then you whisper in my ear
so soft and sensual,
“Couldn’t you be a little late today?”
I smile and follow you back to bed
No alarm needed now….

~

headline.
a middling's meddling muddled the mathmatical mix, messed up the milling, marring the miller's marriage merriment.

~

translation.
baker's assistant trying to help, triples only half of the ingredients in his boss's wedding cake.  result... fail!

just imagining myself a news editor and having fun with word play. :)
(: Steve