Nervousness speaks true thought turning fresh air to gold as it travels across the pub interior ether from rough pale lips to your rouged set, sitting tidy in front of me.
Shaking fingers shake hands with thoughts and nothing, melding something of answer to your question you asked I think twenty-five minutes back, I know not of Richard Feynman, please explain though.
Come the occasion of a plane crash or shipwreck, can I sink with your voice running soft laps around my head? At least then your intonation's tread and heel's step of educated well-read can offset any pain caused by a wing in my thigh or a timing belt leaving my tongue tied and wrapped.
from COFFEESHOPPOEMS.COM. Visit to read miserable poems about things that will never happen.