Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
dani-cunninghamPoems
The iron in your blood is palpable And as my nose discovered it It was like a new religion to me- A break into your apartment In the middle of the night, Wearing knee socks and a football jersey, Hallowing religious experience. And as much as you like them I can NOT appreciate Corn flakes. My feline has found a base in my guitar case Much like I have made a mansion, A toasty nest in your dominance wafting veins. Watching her lay there I understand What it is like to be. What it is like to be the supplier of ultimates And not ultimatums. Like how God feels when he see someone Bathe in the diminutive properties. And as much as you like them I cannot appreciate Corn flakes. They taste like toenails. I want to fasten my seatbelt to this. I want to send you text messages That are blank and know you know exactly What I meant to say. I want to make love to you Without ever touching you Because grip might be too rough For what subsists here. I will eat your Cornflakes, Mr. Prufrock- I will eat them up.
0
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 3:36 PM UTC
Just before she exclaimed “And isn’t that Michaelangelo talented...”
The iron in your blood is palpable And as my nose discovered it It was like a new religion to me- A break into your apartment In the middle of the night, Wearing knee socks and a football jersey, Hallowing religious experience. And as much as you like them I can NOT appreciate Corn flakes. My feline has found a base in my guitar case Much like I have made a mansion, A toasty nest in your dominance wafting veins. Watching her lay there I understand What it is like to be. What it is like to be the supplier of ultimates And not ultimatums. Like how God feels when he see someone Bathe in the diminutive properties. And as much as you like them I cannot appreciate Corn flakes. They taste like toenails. I want to fasten my seatbelt to this. I want to send you text messages That are blank and know you know exactly What I meant to say. I want to make love to you Without ever touching you Because grip might be too rough For what subsists here. I will eat your Cornflakes, Mr. Prufrock- I will eat them up.
Written by
dani-cunningham
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 3:36 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem