I throw my gubbins out
in my net, casting for a
dinner to feed you
by spoon.
My words are gubbins.
Irritating impulse of
fingers and joints
bending around your waist.
Our speech is gubbins -
puked through esophagus
bile and awkward conversation.
A belch of early caught perch.
We make love like gubbins.
You flop wrongly, I flip coarsely.
Our toes knot and break.
We kiss backwards.
I cry gubbins
on your sweaty shirt.
Your gubbin caught dinner
still smudged on your cheek.
I wake up to your bucket of
gubbins from dinner next to the bed.
I bring it to my boat
to catch our next meal.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
I throw my gubbins out
in my net, casting for a
dinner to feed you
by spoon.
My words are gubbins.
Irritating impulse of
fingers and joints
bending around your waist.
Our speech is gubbins -
puked through esophagus
bile and awkward conversation.
A belch of early caught perch.
We make love like gubbins.
You flop wrongly, I flip coarsely.
Our toes knot and break.
We kiss backwards.
I cry gubbins
on your sweaty shirt.
Your gubbin caught dinner
still smudged on your cheek.
I wake up to your bucket of
gubbins from dinner next to the bed.
I bring it to my boat
to catch our next meal.
From a prompt to question the meaning/existence of a word. I chose "gubbins", an old word for fish chum. Working title.
Request permission to use this poem