Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 15
I'm not a game to be played
when feeling bold
then quickly dropped into cold
once your nerve wavers thin
affection shifting to chagrin
looks like I am tricked again
as inauthentic you crept in.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

you are not some toying thing
to be cajoled to dance and sing
as my will does ebb and flow
this is it, there you go, there you go
you hot you cold you shy you bold.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

we are not we and never where
distant boy and gold hair girl
so I do you and you do me
across the sea to shining sea
if we could I think we would
it's written now so should be good
the feels were felt deep under hood.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels.

there still will be the filling up
your nectar unto my loving cup
I pulled you in you pushed away
the push and pull is how we play
a pretty glisten on the morn
did offer stickily sweet to adorn
fingers tips and lips did drip.

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels

we switch it up we switch it down
in penners pens a friendship found
and so unbidden feels abound
I'm laid bare across your knee
my breath held pulse running round
I know you know I want it now 'la fessee'
this newly new thing sees me free

clickety clack clickety clack
does this train on the track
I did not leap under its wheels
I pushed them down the sickly feels

© J.C.
This is a slightly tweaked rewrite of an older poem...brought back to mind after listening to train sounds during lockdown...go figure lolz.. (originally written on a train ride)
Jayne E
Written by
Jayne E  F/New Zealand
(F/New Zealand)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems