waiting.
this is my highest compliment to you.
waiting.
In the hot sun in the afternoon.
Vultures and flies buzzing over my head.
when I lay this way
I expose my neck
I allow myself to become your prey

The romance is lost a bit in such situation. Don't you think?

your little white lies are threaded and spun together
they make a new strands every time you talk.
the sequence of your web changes when you take action.

The unattractive woman at the office that you flirt with.
The invisible career you brag about.
The family problems that you exaggerate

you talk and your tongue is exercised.
your lungs waste their space and breath.
your lips formulate through the motions.

who are you trying to please?
we all see you are the spider and cannot leave your web.

I want to write that poem.

The one that will make you *** in your pants.

Make you click up your heels, dance on your father's grave. Then your mother will become an emancipated slave!

To punch that bully square in the face, the one that made you want to erase your grade school years.

I want this poem to make you feel so ****, get you to can dance around naked without a fear.

I want it to help you find a lover,  someone who will pamper your heart like no other.

Maybe it can help you patch up family arguments. Instead of calling that guy an *******, you can actually acknowledge he is your brother.

Hopefully, it can raise the dead. Let the answers you desire become said.

The children you wish on a star for, turn around and they appear. Don't want them? Make a wish and they are removed , a few miles from here.

Here, take this. Use it to dry those heavy tears.

Who knows?

It may even compliment your saggy rear!

Storm in the morning hours.
You caress me,  like I am suppose to know.
I let you.
Excited where this will go.
Pajamas make *******  me that more easy.
I am as pliable as those pajamas  on days like this.
Don't get mad, I like being submissive on certain days.
You always throw my pajamas in such a crazy way.
Takes longer to retrieve them.
Longer than how much time  you play.

Sitting next to her in your pauper's bed.
She complains for the 50th time today about her stuffed up head.
She blows her nose into some tissue.
You wanted to make love, but her footy pajamas would be an issue.
This is the time when this beast is actually tame.
She screams at you and breaks your spirit until you jump at your own name.
She ignores you goes back to reading her book.
It's been ages since she has thrown you a smitten look.
She doesn't even have a cold.
It's 12 months out of the year that these mysterious allergies take hold.
They seemed to appear after honeymoon night.
When she knew you were in this deal tight.
Don't say I didn't tell you so,
remember you left me for her more beautiful soul

I wish I could write a poem to show how uncomfortable I am with myself.
I would wax and wane about how god has left me without looks.
I would compare myself to people without limbs or eyes.
It would be such a self serving poem.

It would make people sick.
They would think back to their cousins without limbs.
Don't we all have family members like this?
At least people you got a peek at in grade school...

I wish that I could write a poem like this.
Without the whole readers hating me part.

I have no idea why I let this relationship get this far.
Single people wish for such things on shooting stars and birthday candles.
Not me. Not anymore. I had to **** this *****.
Settle our score.

Perhaps the **** thought I would pop the question.
Either way, I had us both in the car and sped off in no particular direction.
I gorged her fat *** with chocolates and wine.
Funny, in a few hours this sow would be no problem of mine.

Her apologies and anxiety led me to this dark place.
I loved her jokes and she had an okay face.
The nagging and indecisive ways is what finally got to me.
Ah! Perfect lets head into this park full of trees.

Normally only gay men hang out in these parts.
It will be pretty funny when they come across this cut up ****.
I had the axe wrapped in a towel in the back seat.
This ***** had no idea what would knock her off her feet.

And just like that she made a real funny joke.
My conscience got the best of me and made me choke.
****! Feelings stop me again.
Why do we end up doing this every weekend?