#crisscross
Green grass, over the fence
Oh, how she wished something would happen.
Sometimes, I could imagine a duo as Hector and Debbie,
Trusting the process and accepting prophecies.
Things like Hector's passion about music,
Persuading rhythm alike classic romances.
Of how he wanders histories behind every key,
He strums his fingers in swift, never off-key.
Hector is somewhat lucky to have a sister like Rowanne,
Checking his contents for loopholes, because then she found one.
Chapter Two, 'Hector goes into a sponge state and has a satori',
To the point where he meets a maiden, named Robin.
Conglomerate, quartzite, sand stone, and cigarette ****
Why not, let's seek the mighty Debbie's hunt?
Her hook of appreciation is beyond inspiring,
One's looking at the bright, fuzzy picture in the magazine,
Yes, she thought.
Chapter Twelve, Debbie had truck lessons taught by Lenny.
He asked permission from his Dad in the field of gloom.
Debbie and Patty stood inside a thriving mountain of rhododendrons.
Hoping it wasn't too late, she thought the word 'soon'.
A poet would like to bid its period in this closing narrative,
She would like to walk further and swim deeper to the medium paged papers.
This selection of scenarios frames to the advocates,
Criss-cross, criss-cross,
Oh, how she wished something would happen.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 5:26 AM UTC
Touch me softly
And run a feather
From over my neck to my belly
Then
Up and down
round and round
Move your hands gently
Over my boomerang
And when you can’t hold it
Anymore
Move fast and slow
Eye to eye
Until our faces glow red
and our hair is wet with sweat
Crisscross, our
legs like scissors
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC