Ain't nothing like the
real thing
Baby.
Nothing like your voice,
Your visage, body,
Nor touch.
No fantasy worth having,
No dream worth sleeping,
No woman worth the flirting.
Only time worth waiting
Til you're back in my arms,
Only distance worth traveling
Because I'll run near or far
To hold you again,
Kiss you again,
Make Love again,
Pray together again,
Whisper once more,
Set butterflies and bubbles loose
Deep down in your core.
Ain't nothing that can
match the feeling
Of the real thing
Between you and me
Baby.

he won't shut up
when he's around
he wants to write everything
keeps on formulating phrases
hallucinating
couches into flying carpets
swearing that he's seen
the ground from the sky

The Poet
we never know what he's doing -
turning black sheep
into heaven
he's stuck on the inside
looking out

The Poet
he won't shut up
but when I really need him
he's no where to be found

when he wants what
he wants
in these poems of his
I know I'll wind up
embarrassed humiliated and forlorn

The Poet
when he's around
he won't shut up
he keeps going on and on

And when he's gone
Silence.