Feb 2020
It doesn’t take much
To be ****.
Drop out of your suit,
Forget everyone else’s
Meaning of crude.
But your fingers
Are burning cold
And your heads,
Hot as the sun
Might be to hold.
Aches that numb,
The first fear
Of eyes passing over,
In white light
You appear.
Your music plays,
Hands draw fast.
Time wobbles,
Sliding out of position,
At last.
It doesn’t take much
To be ****.
Drop out of your suit,
Forget everyone else’s
Meaning of crude.
To be ****.
Drop out of your suit,
Forget everyone else’s
Meaning of crude.
But your fingers
Are burning cold
And your heads,
Hot as the sun
Might be to hold.
Aches that numb,
The first fear
Of eyes passing over,
In white light
You appear.
Your music plays,
Hands draw fast.
Time wobbles,
Sliding out of position,
At last.
It doesn’t take much
To be ****.
Drop out of your suit,
Forget everyone else’s
Meaning of crude.
© 2020 Columbusphere All rights reserved
A first go at a poem that shall have more reflection after I model with my temperature tonight and gain an understanding, rather than speculation...
Having now modelled, I believe this is fairly accurate. Really enjoyed it though, minus the illness..
A first go at a poem that shall have more reflection after I model with my temperature tonight and gain an understanding, rather than speculation...
Having now modelled, I believe this is fairly accurate. Really enjoyed it though, minus the illness..
