"gigolo" poems
A barraster at law no less
I wouldnt trust I must confess
Looking down your pointed nose
seductively holding pose
Your linkedIn profile
who could see
just how you get your
filthy fee
Perverted farming
Filthy creeps
In Hi ace vans
and blacked out jeeps
Gratefully they pay their fee
In return for an STD
Heres the justice overflow
For Nank and **** and ******
I'm returning him to you
When I scrape him from my shoe
For you my dear a final fact
His STD is still intact!
Enjoy!
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 3:43 AM UTC
I recovered from the night again,
She had disappeared once more,
Was she using me as a ******
I was frustrated & also saddened,
My self-control got strengthened,
For I was not a tissue to be used!!!
I have my feelings & my emotions,
Presence and absence torture me,
Ego I had tamed got hurt by now...
I won't let that elusive Angel come,
Questioning I must be her realities,
Illusions will end this time finally!!!
I'll establish an identity of my own,
Dependent I'll not be on the angel,
Was she only a dream & no more???
I had duly asked the aged captain,
To search a lovely bride very soon,
Oh, so sure I am about afterwards...
I was tailed by the spirit-like angel,
So irritated by her dreary dreams,
On-off, came-gone, again & again!!!
I now would learn to catch angels,
With the plan, I went to the mage,
Should I now learn some spells???
I entered through a dark alleyway,
Was told to visit this strange place,
What comes across - I wondered...
I knocked the door & she appeared,
Very young she seemed to me now,
Just the age of the angel of dreams!!!
I noticed that she wore a long robe,
So shiny it was silvery like her hair,
Just like the angel of dreams wore...
I rubbed my tired eyes in disbelief,
"Who're you?" I asked very loudly,
"Are you the mage's daughter???"
I wondered for long & she replied,
"Your guess is correct, kind Sailor,"
She beckoned me into the shack...
I set my foot on the wooden floor,
I look for any sign of the mage,
I want to be set free of the cage!!!
I just thought & thought about it,
But the witch was not to be seen,
Curious I asked, "Where is she???"
"I am my mother," she said calmly,
Perplexed I couldn't say a thing,
My mouth opened once & shut...
I was now about to rise & go away,
But she stopped me with her arms,
"I must show you," so she did say!!!
I did not believe what my eyes saw,
How she changed into the old mage,
Then back into her own daughter???
O I had become confused a lot now,
Why would she transform like this,
I feared if it was actually the angel...
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
The gift of a loving and a platonic relationship.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Having sorted the Philanderer or attractive
Elope if you will , be together in Gretna Green
****** lover ,being kept by a woman of means
Introduce a love potion or Philtre if you’ve one
Feast upon love if you have the energy for it.
The gift of a loving and platonic relationship
Oh too much ? I have heard , is so ******
Friends without any love making is platonic
And Platonic is OK but never satisfying
Love needs to be total never half-way
Oh the differences between loving n platonic?
Virtually all virgins are best to keep pure.
In that the longer you can stay that way is fine
Never try to keep pace with your peers
Goading and teasing you saying you’re queer
As first you really have to love yourself
Narcissism is acceptable at an early age.
Don’t you see ? Look in the mirror. Handsome !
Ask yourself a question.Am I not a fine beauty
Platonic is a name of a friend you couldn’t kiss
********** would be out of the question
Alive to the perils of the merging of the two
Torch songs of unrequited love over the radio
On an enamoured night of drinking red wine
Narcissism comes into play so frequently.
I saw it in my younger days. With pretty girls.
Collectively all trying to look the prettiest
Reality dawns upon the real responsibility .
Elevating your passion to the highest level
Let me take out the College girl every time
And talk about the meaning of life and poetry
To me the platonic relationships sustained one
In that *** never got in the way.
Only once the whole truth is established.
Necking and a cuddle in the back seat enough
*** later in life became a wonderful gift.
Having had so many platonic friends around
I think it gave me an insight to what life was.
Personally given my time over I would repeat...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
November 15th 2018.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy. As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures. Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being. Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the spunk. If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself. Fuck your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses. Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge. Cock sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man. Nevertheless let this not ********* you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion. Touch yourself. To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches. Neither be cheeky about ****** ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist. Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness. Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity. But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings. Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness. Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself. You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end. And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should. Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** intercourse. With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory. Stand pert. Die in the attempt to be boozed up.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardly crevices
Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,
A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe,
There are no family photographs,
No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women
Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks,
Mill a litter of ******* like jellyfish.
To nourish
The cellos of moans I eat eggs --
Eggs and fish, the essentials,
The aphrodisiac squid.
My mouth sags,
The mouth of Christ
When my engine reaches the end of it.
The tattle of my
Gold joints, my way of turning
******* to ripples of silver
Rolls out a carpet, a hush.
And there is no end, no end of it.
I shall never grow old. New oysters
Shriek in the sea and I
Glitter like Fontainebleu
Gratified,
All the fall of water an eye
Over whose pool I tenderly
Lean and see me.
3.7k
She rises as everyone falls
Her white complexion pristine as always
Men have fought for her pale face
Yet, when faced with her dark side, they cry in horror
A beautiful outsider
She wanders alone in the stars
Her wonder intimidates
Her grace frightens
Her love kills
Under her glow men commit ****** and monsters come out to play
Around every corner satin's satire drips of the tongue of ******
Adultery runs rampant
Respectable ties exchanged for leashes of pleasure
And briefcases for whips
He sleeps in a long sleeve shirt to hide the lashes
Dinner was cold when he got home
But he forgave.
At church
The cross burns a whole in his forehead
His lips slightly stained from last night
Mind not on the sermon, but on his next excuse
How can he admit to losing everything to a drug test
She picks up the phone with a grin on her face as if he could see her through the phone
Another faulty excuse of overtime
Of course the plastered smile stays
But she can't find reasoning marketing should leave bruises on his wrists
Her children are her only ball and chain
Her soul had left her years ago
But her body stays to care for them
An empty shell
Selene walks into the stars once again and waves the wife over
She swallows more than ever and spins to the sky
Selene guides her to her soul and they walk together to watch
Her son calls from his room for dinner
Her daughter throws her phone because she didn't have service
Her husband screams because the collar was a bit tight
Selene, desperate for company, begs for her to stay
And she does
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
Party At The Old Age Home
Hello today and how are you,
feeling better, now that we're through.
Things are starting to improve,
feeling that single life groove.
A new girl every single week,
you'd think I was in my ****** peak.
Would you believe, I'm eighty two,
****** is the thing I do.
I get blow jobs with just gum,
these old ladies **** it like a Tum.
I just pop a pill and off I go,
an ****** old folks home show.
Having ****** in my room,
even the nurses jump on my tomb.
Not sure how long my heart will last,
who cares every night I have a blast.
My ***** hang down to my knees,
these old women keep begging please.
Before *** I remove the cobwebs,
I've partied in each of their beds.
They say my heart attack was inevitable,
my golden years were so incredible.
My casket was covered in ******* and flowers,
it was nice being that hard for many hours.
Glad me and the wife had that fight,
I became a ****** out of spite.
Saggy **** had me beguiled,
it was like old girls gone wild.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
His remains were borne away to the cemetery
And were interred in a "G" marked grave finally,
Having led he a life of wine, women and
Song. He was therefore committed to the land
Of no returning more, who on this shore was
The philanderers' prince, using his john thomas
To make lucre off ladies libido--a ******
For he knew how to set their body whole aglow
And ensured their ****** playing the field as
A merchant of amour in the Sin City of Las
Vegas and had a great liking for cards--
When easing up his muscles--and for billiards.
He's a 6'4 and broad-chested feller; chunky
Enough for that **** business. A bloke beefy!
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 2:24 AM UTC
The realtor came to me and tried to show me the house.
But from the time he met me, the meeting went south.
I stumbled on the steps, and hurt my bigger toe.
The porch looked like a residence for a male ******
The realtor told me that the first owner did not want to go.
I asked where he was, and the realtor said he’s buried six feet below.
But he made it a haunted house, because he said if I cant have it no one can.
I said that sounds crazy, and then the realtor said you haven’t even met the man.
I stepped inside the house, and immediately wished I did not go past the main deck
Because it did not look like a house, it looked like a bad trainwreck.
I said to the realtor that I was leaving, and he said to check out the upstairs.
But of the nature of the house I was caught completely unawares.
I walked up the steps, and instantly it made me regret my life choices.
I said I wanted to leave and the realtor said that you will offend the voices.
I asked what voices, and the realtor replied I have spoken too much.
I left the house in a hurry, and the realtor yelled that there was no rush.
I got to my home and quickly took a shower to wash away the experience.
Because I never went to a house that had such bad virulence.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
(Life is living art)
AGAINST THE BRICKS
****** leans
Against the bricks
Gotham gothic walls
Left thumb hooked on a pocket of his
Faded denim jeans
Right hand caressing a carnation
Steady
Ready to go
Mr. ****** in a James Dean glow
Mean
Black leather jacket
Shiny slick like
Ghetto pothole puddles
Wet lacking rain
Only street lamp
Spot light
Backstreet dangerous
****** leans with
A flower for Ms. Green
Come hither squeeze
He waits
There in the sallow
Glow
Another shadow
Against the bricks
Graffiti Canons spray paint art
Masterpieces
Within living scenes
Cool as concrete rain
Patient as an evening breeze
Passing moments
A Smiley face
Honest pain sculptures
Poetry is exploding
Street Glean
Art full in appreciating
brick walls
In his ****** lean
Worth is in / our noticing
This
Life's living work of Art.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.
I am usually flat broke
Not a dollar to my name.
It’s almost like saving up
Has never been my game.
I know I could maybe do well
By snuggling someone wealthy,
But I know people who did that
And it never worked out healthy.
I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.
I’d much rather just play around
And see what happens then.
I don’t plan and I don’t demand,
I don’t insist we do it all again.
I might be gone when you wake
Off to have new adventures.
I don’t care if my wandering ways
Are looked upon with abject censure.
I say it up front, so no heartbreak,
I tell you please don’t to marry me.
I pay my own way and sleep where I wish.
I don’t need anyone to carry me.
If you see me down the road a ways
And I’m behaving some other way instead;
Not the jiggle-free ****** I am normally
Then bury me, it means I’m dead
I guess I’m a different sort
A kind of jiggle-free ******
When the fun turns to money
I always choose to go.
I have no beef with prostitutes,
Some are great at having fun.
It’s just when it comes to me
I’d rather see than be one.
Brent Kincaid
4/28/2019
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 11:36 PM UTC
And leave it to Turturro
To steal the movie again,
A tour-de-force in a single character,
Repeatedly, consistently . . .
Except maybe one time.
"Raging Bull" 1980:
Turturro was "Man at Table,"
Uncredited, of course,
A man of no words,
A role difficult, constraining for any
Would-be Richard Burton,
Some shrew-taming Petruchio,
Over the top & out of a job,
Again.
Ask any director who
Directed in the 1950s and 60s?
"Difficult to handle," says Unanimous,
Auteurs & Schlock Filmmakers,
Alike.
Turturro too, needs special handling,
Or Jesus Quintana will chew up the scenery,
Emilio Lopez will be sneaky-sneaky-sneaky,
Materializing without warning over & over
Again.
Turturro: veteran of 60+ films,
*Barton Fink, Miller's Crossing,
Fading ****** The Color of Money,
Do the Right Thing,
O Brother, Where Art Thou?*
Turturro TV: Frazier, Monk & Miami Vice.
And others.
Turturro: a Brooklyn boy, Italian,
Roman-Catholic, the son of Katherine,
An amateur jazz singer who worked in a
Navy yard during World War II, &
Nicholas Turturro, a carpenter &
Construction worker who fought as a
Navy sailor on D-Day.
Turturro: attended the State University of
New York at New Paltz, completed his
MFA at the Yale School of Drama.
A life most worthy, capped off with
Amedeo & Diego, his two sons.
So, I'd like to thank The Academy,
In advance yet decades overdue:
A Lifetime Achievement Award, Johnny.
Recognition over the long haul.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
This Girl Of Mine
Clothes get thrown to the floor,
at this point we can't take no more.
I got style, I got grace,
when my girl sits on my face.
I have the moves that drive her wild,
you should see the way she smiled.
Kisses from head to toe,
foreplay should be nice and slow.
With my tongue, I don't miss a spot,
never once have I missed her slot.
Starts with a kiss, than a massage,
we even don't mind an entourage.
Puts her mouth over my stick,
open wide cause it's very thick.
We don't need to watch any ****
just an over-sized shoe horn.
It starts with her on top,
keep going baby and never stop.
Loves when her ******* are squeezed,
lucky for us we're not diseased.
Pounding hard with all our might,
*** is better after a big fight.
Bed is rocking and about to break,
must be quieter or the kids will wake.
Then it's time for doggy style,
smacking that *** for awhile.
Pulling her hair, till it hurts,
this girl of mine has the squirts.
Bed is soak and wet,
and no it isn't from sweat.
Screaming my name for an hour,
I'm like God, but with more power.
I can feel my knees getting weak,
this girl of mine is such a freak.
Body is shaking, and turning Japanese,
she is screaming hurry please.
Then came the big explosion,
if I was a ****** I'd deserve a promotion.
Then we lay in bed and cuddle,
first I get a towel, for the giant puddle.
Holding her tight, till she falls asleep,
this girl of mine, I'm gonna keep.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
Love Story
This is a love story of a different sort,
he was a ****** she was an escort.
He had the night off and feeling lonely,
eating his cheese, crackers and pepperoni.
Called a girl he once knew,
she is an escort, and making her debut.
She was there in an hour,
she was fat and he had no flour.
She told him fifty bucks, and I'm all yours,
she barely fit through any of his doors.
He said, I never knew you were a **********
she said, I didn't come here for you to prosecute.
No, no he said that's not it,
I miss hanging out, I must admit.
They talked all night, and she charged no money,
life is strange and even sometimes funny.
They both quit their illegal jobs,
every night they would make love like Gods.
After a week they got hitched,
it was like together, they got stitched.
She found a job at a bank,
he started driving an oil tank.
She exercised and lost some weight,
he said, **** baby you look great.
They lived a happy middle classed life,
but very happy as husband and wife.
They had a baby, then another,
he was a good dad, and her a good mother.
They were living happily ever after,
till he died falling off a very high rafter.
Turned their lives into shreds,
no more stitches, broken was the threads.
After a while they moved on,
finally the numbness was all gone.
She hooked up with a new man,
kids chopped him up and stuck him in a can.
They didn't want a new daddy,
mommy got depressed and again became a fatty.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
I heard Mr. Brown got busted.
Yeah, he was hangin' out down at the Piggly Wiggly,
propositionin' all the lady customers.
He was askin' 'em
if they wanted to buy a ****
Doesn't that crazy chicken farmer know,
he ain't now ******
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
We have been loving the same ******
all this time,
you thought he was your
I thought that he was mine,
Now, he’s all yours,
An error
Bittersweet blend of sorrow
~
My precious little angels
Now, it all comes to this
An end of an era
~
I know it never a good time to say adios
To the one you once love and adore
However, now is the right time to engrave his name?
on his tombstone
Here lies Mr. ****** all alone
~
We have been loving the same ******
All this time;
You thought he was yours
I thought he was mine
~
Breaking each other hearts
that lying **** ******
in Toledo Ohio
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Reptile conscience
Liars eyes, reptile conscience,
Forked tongue whispers, secret heart.
Your fire, echoes of broken promises,
Far gone is all that which we are.
Ice berg, the ruination,
Your words all begin to disintegrate.
My words are now a termination;
No chance of our love lasting past the end of this day.
Heart break, this is your hotel,
I am just your ******
My life, my life; my Hell.
I think that you should go.
You can take all of the lies with you,
Scatter clothes across the floor.
I see no future, no way through;
I change the locks on all my doors.
Taken away, never to be returned,
This should have been a beautiful day.
Now I am torn, now I have heard,
No place I can escape to; nothing left to say.
The damage is done, we are no more.
Chasing dreams away for they are only nightmares.
You had your fun and watched me fall;
The grenade you leave inside my chest leaves me without air.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
I was once. Yes, I was.
Thought it'll be fun
Not even sorry for the word
'cos **** it's no fun.
You're in the rainbow, adding more colors
While I'm here, hating colors.
Contended with blue and gray
Exploring all its shades, babe.
As much as I want to be your ******
but that person isn't me.
You can throw me luxuries
I'll still choose the stone.
That's why I left
Happily.
Contented.
No regrets. No regrets.
Wrote this poem to finally say goodbye.
Please be happy
'cos you deserve it.
Goodbye.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 6:56 AM UTC
.
******
GigoloGigolo
Gigolo Gigolo
G igolo G igolo
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** ******
****** Gigolo Gigolo ******
****** ****** G igolo ****** G
Gigolo ****** G igloo ****** Gig
****** Gigolo Gigolo ******
Gigolo ******
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
Jack called in this morning
for a cup of tea
and he asked if he
could hold my knee
I turned down his request
rather smartly
as I had no need
of a hand on my knee
Jack is a man
who is into close contact
Jack is also a man
who is lacking in tact
he's very forward
in his style of approach
his manner doth
irritatingly encroach
last week he called in
to have tea with Meg
he asked if he could hold
her ample leg
to whit she said Jack
I don't think so
it is time for you
to get up and go
Jack likes to call
on the ladies in these parts
using his not so pleasant methods
to win their hearts
Jack fancies himself
to be the local ******
but the ladies around here
know that isn't so
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
I glaze a look at the street, from
our apartment window.
You are coming slowly, teetering
one leg in front other, with back slightly hunched forward,
burdened with sleepless nights and yesterday’s undones.
Vibrant spirit once you had is lost, tossed among crowded
train wagons, useless meetings and broken deadlines.
One vein in the left corner of your forehead, swells, pulses in the rhythm
of your dark, fuddled thoughts as unremitting, sprouting baldness
reflects evening lights.
Still, I smile,
for you are here, with me in all this madness
we call life, half diced with wants and haunts that braid
every tomorrow we greet together.
I would like to put you in a different frame, picture of
nor “Yeses” nor “Nos”,
just us, being us, each moment celebrating
without lamenting for what “ifs” or “shoulds” and “coulds”.
Still, I smile,
as I watch you battle your restless leg syndrome,
wrestling to sooth demanding expectations,
lifted bars for higher remunerations, in constant marathon
of best comparison,
for you care, you dare.
I take your hand with eyes of approval,
life’s ****** and gigolette,
ready to play each day’s illusive roulette.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
“What do you do for living?” I asked, examining the bronzed boy.
“I love,” he said, with a smirk and a slight touch on my fingers.
Shalini Nayar
© 2002
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
Edweir knew she came
To the cafeteria for her
Lunch each day and usually
Sat in the same place if
She could and this day
She is sitting there with
That blue dress on the one
That shows the valley
Between her ******* and
Her hair frames her face
In such a way and he tries
To sit so he can see her so
And turn away his head
If he thought she might
Gaze his way but now she
Sits in pensive mood as some
Women do her hands holding
The glass her thoughts seeming
Far away and he wonders if
Maybe she has grown tired
Of her work up in Dawlish’s
Office or maybe has is often
Rumoured Dawlish had soft
Touched her where it’s known
By those in the know he is
Often want to go or maybe
She thinks of some other thing
An evening date with some sad
****** or some schmuck who
Only wants to drink and ****
Now she pauses and sips from
The glass and deeply sighs oh
How he would love to go and
Embrace her and say anything
I can do to help and run a finger
Along her face but now she stares
At him and he feels a creepy finger
Up and down his spine and her eyes
Wash over him in cold disdain while
Outside the skies are blue and the sun
Shines warmly with no sign of rain.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 3:30 AM UTC