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Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
~for you~*

~~~

when I put
twosome of twisted lips together,
long dragging one foot clubbed,
agony before the other,
but one hand obeys commands,
the other disdains, ignores,
one only eye-seeing, vision impaired,

and the body laughs at the notion of
paired coordinates

tongue disobeys desires,
limping thru life's everything,
thoughts locked down on pause,
mid-think is a cassette tape
in a seven-second delayed,
a fist cannot be unbroken, unwound

chorus of mockers,
herd of haters
rejoice in my diminution,
using my weakness for ammunition

for I am a stutterer,

just another you,

misstepping, fracturing,
the minutes of a life disastered,
suffered, sadly, no gladly hanging about

but I do not forsake hope

repair each word with the honor
of a slow enunciation distinguished,
ungainly shaped, yet soldier-motion forward,
in small poems and  with one hand holding

for I am armed with certainty

as I stutter thru living,
more than awaiting, comprehending,
you, you,
understand full well,
that we are all handicapped

salvation arrives when
a touching whisper heard in one solitary ear,
you sir, you, are not alone

for who among us dare deny
*we are all stutterers
6:54 am Sunday, October 24, 2015,
Isle of Manhattan
Nigel Obiya Oct 2012
As a young child
I played and thought it would never stop
We would literally 'go wild'
With our makeshift bows and arrows, our plastic six shooters, and our macho cowboy hats we'd throw on just to top...
It off
Yes they were 'war games', but they brought us together
Although as expected, one or two of us would at some point get ticked off
By one thing or another
But we stayed childishly united
The stutterer, the other kid with asthma... and the orphan, that kid without a mother
Played side by side, like sisters and brothers
You just joined in, no need to be invited
This was innocence, the only guilt you felt was knowing you were two hours passed your curfew
Or maybe because earlier you had showered yourself with your aunt's perfume
Sometimes I wish we could go back to that innocence
Replay that last tune, on the harp of joy
They keep telling me life is not a game anymore
I'm like 'as long as it makes me smile, I will keep this toy'.
john c Jan 2014
when I walk, always a body beside me
when I talk always someone ahead of me
when I listen there is always and only me
Gavin Paul Boehm Jul 2013
What the **** kind of artist am I? I say I'm a poet, but you wouldn't know it if you saw me through my eyes. My whole existence is just a guise. I compromise my way through the day, wasting away what little talent I may possess. I'll confess that I've been impressed with some of the things I've managed to remove from my chest, but it would be in jest for me to suggest that I've ever given anyone or anything anywhere near my best.
I grieve the death of communication, but with each anxious breath my verbal constipation gets gridlocked, words backing up and choking out, leaving me a broken stutterer, muttering to myself that I'm a stupid schmuck, a ******* out of luck, wasting time and getting stuck, with the most frequent word in my vocabulary being ****...
I'd be a sitting duck if it weren't for my sheer stubbornness shoving this struggling mind to rise like a hawk, terrorizing the skies with my fantasized verbiage and tantalizing turbulence. NO one else has a plane of thought that swerves like this, and when I crash land, I trudge across the tumultuous terrain to prove my worth to myself.
I create my own living hell, my own prison cell. My heart knows I excel, but my eyes only open when I fail, which makes it hard to tell if I've gained any traction. My prison bars have cut my vision into fractions, marring my perception and staring the conception of self dissension.
I spelunk through the sunken wonders in my skull, wandering from wreck to wreck, scouring the decks for hidden sets of similes to act as seeds for my flowering dreams. My dreams always seem just out of reach, but comfortably within my sight; and although I yearn to touch, apparently seeing is good enough to keep me sedated.
I'm compensated with overrated praise from those closest to me. I have to hold boulders above my shoulders to keep my nose to the grindstone as I blindly roam through forests of undone poems, revealing themselves to me as blazing trees, jealous of the message held by their burning cousin. Dozens of roots grew though my veins, ingraining my fingers as I walked through the smoke, groping with my broken limbs, hoping for that day to come when tires swing from my bows again!
But I won't settle for being one of them-- a motionless stem, potent with potential that lies latent beneath layers of sentimental protection. I stave off being rooted by stripping my bark bare and shooting my words into the air instead. The leaves bloom and blossom inside my head, allowing me to dream in color, compounding fantasy and reality into the blurring plurality that's governing between my ears.
My horizons delight my eyes with sights of blinding brilliant bouquets of vibrant prisms that could make prisoners cheer.
They give me hope. Hope that one day I can cope with myself, stop blocking my path with felled trees, and just be pleased to have been Me.
Tommy Johnson Dec 2014
The string on the kite spool is made of doll hair
Mincemeat pies
Someones trying to get my goat
It's the stutterer with a broken nose trying to read aloud

"Ch ch ch choo choo choose yo yo yo your battles"
"A a a and d d d don't le le le let any any any anyone fi fi fi ffff fight them for for for for you"

I'll give it to him, it must of taken a lot for him to muster up enough guts to do that

There was a sign the said "Canebreaks" do they mean sugarcane or a rattle snake? I'm not going to check it out both are bad for my health

Over on the other side of the park is a hot blooded swindler
He's  selling provisions
Tiny morsels of food for outrageous prices
For anyone with a dormant and insatiable appetite and no concept of money
He's bound to find someone who will take him up on his offer sooner or later

Over in the crowd I hear someone asking people to join her in a hostile take over or was it a harsh take down? Either way no one was into it
I'm not too sure she was either come to think of it, probably blowing off some smoke

Under the gazebo I see kids taking something
I guess sweaty foreheads that sheen and quavering ligaments are just modern ingredients to coming of age
But is couch lock necessary?

Now I'm face to face with my fifth grade teacher
She's got tenure now
She's barefoot and has a dour look on her face
I can feel that she's tired of the same day in day out life she lives
But I guess there's no way of knowing for sure

Oh no, someones got a gun
There is always "That Guy"

Everyone runs, scatters
Moms pick up their children and run to their cars with their husbands right behind them

The drunks stumble, bumping into one another

Only when danger is near do you see how nimble and limber people can be

The gunman scales the chain link fence and fires of a few rounds and shouts, "I DON'T GIVE A **** IF THIS DOESN'T FIT THE ALLOTTED TIME SLOT!"
"ALL OUR CUMULATIVE SCORES ARE MISGIVEN AND THOSE WHO HAVE DESECRATED OUR VOWS WILL BE OVER TURNED!"
"IT'S A RACE TO THE OTHER SIDE AND IT'S FIRST TO THE FINISH!"

He put the nose of the gun to his face and pulled the trigger
His brains dangled on the chain link fence

Why did I have to over shoot the turn and wind up at this weird *** picnic/fair/festival/bloodbath thing?
Jon Tobias Sep 2011
You remember what you wanted to be when you grow up?

Right now

When I grow up

I want to be a poet

Even if I am homeless and I use all my green paper

To buy myself some white paper

Just to **** it up all over again

I have muddied so many perfect things

With my ***** hands

***** thoughts

***** feelings

If I don’t etch myself away on something

How can I ever come clean?

Especially if I am homeless

I will cut these words out of me if I have to

I will soap box my heart out

From anywhere

Even if no one is listening

I don’t mind being the self talking

grungy stutterer you step into the street to walk away from

That awkward smacking is just me working the psalms

From the roof of my mouth like holy peanut butter

They are bitter and equally disgusting to the pallet as they are the ear

But the truth has a nasty taste

And beauty is always buried under layers of dirt

And I can’t wipe hard enough

I will never be approachable

I need to find at least 10 ways to say

No longer negotiable

I want to be a poet

Just some guy who

Puts ink to paper

The same way he

Puts paper to face

In order to soak the bleeding of his blemishes

If I don’t use something

To wipe away my *****

How will I ever be clean?
Jedd Ong Sep 2013
From the rooftops
Of my aureate balcony

I will the thunder
To scream louder.

I will the winds
To blow harder.

I will the lightning
To flash brighter,

I will the hail
To flow thicker.

The moonlight kisses
My temple

For I...

I am a stutterer.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2022
To make a point
stop there.
Be still.

To displace a lie,
learn a truth.

To be
become true.

Storied ways taken,
ever conserving, there
and here, for telling here
is where my kind longs to be.

When one becomes oneself
among the many ones aligned
in rank and file,
row after row, line after line

Words intented holds expand,
stretch the tent,
tsedek and tsedaqa - male and female
accurate (1), fairly (1), just (10), just cause (1), justice (3), righteous (15), righteously (6), righteousness (76), righteousness' (1), rightly (1), vindication (1), what is right (3).

From <https://biblehub.com/hebrew/6664.htm>



tsedek and tsedaq met in a mind,
and one man took it as his own, my secret
sacred, set apart,
ID, 'e go
"secre bleu"
Little boy blue,
buy my excuse, I was used,
as were my peers, who alone know my worth,
id est, my amusing antics, when the works
is all aglow, fair folk
from the coal fields
to the ash heaps, watched the heat, the warmth
fly the ashes last hoorah, freedom,

leave the ashes. Blame on, whose the flame is.

In words, in mind, in my times, sorted by you,
when you listen, amused - eh, listening
no longer to your self instructing will,

leave the anxious waiting be,
let us make today the day being,

enveloping us past solid state,
holding thought to frame with words,
portray a certain way, thinking, per se,
we
in minimum numbers, two chase ten, so say
the clingers to the oppositional force,
----------------- breaker-----
abhor the darkness, less than the cold,
come sit a while, stone cold blue boy,
be deemed worthy
of the warm sunny day.

So the old boy blue in hue,
as well as disposition, sat, quiet in the humm
of life, tuned to long, long, whoknewhen, then,

an entry invitation, was taken as ligamental,
hold this thought, if you will,
think me a little light, - literaturely conserved
in perpetual prepubescent sprite state, in minds
atuned, screeching
halt re
alities, as good as on tv, better than some, trips
and knowledge,  twanged twixt those two idea
forms informing began, and then
sci=psi=psy harmonic wars
grating noise as war is per se, when thought

the string tuned to the mind of God, the whole
she-bang shegaionical wind dancer mind,
so poetic, per haps, or chance, what say

we find a lie, one we share, I told it,
we believed it, you are not alone, hear me
knock, it is a secret knock, now we may
imagine unindividuation, at will,
whatsoever two or more,
of us, reader-writer-connection systems,
nodes as abodes for held thought, since

ever we suppose, we began on a guess,

every body, comes equipped with reflexive

acid reflux at the first flush after constipulation
confabulous reasons to get in line, follow
the pattern,
per haps, some persuasion, sweet Arabian beans,

speed is a time factor, distance seems a longing
pull, or draw, intaken breath, let out a sigh.

There is vast use to be made, right every right,
you said, as we said it, you said it, here we be

right enough to live for free, as free. Bound
by the meandering reality predictable being
having, sinuous loops, symbol of some thing

we think, we imagine we imagined once, this
causes that, so we gave good rating,
and were fed.
- now the blue gives way to a range of yellow,
- and one part of me recalls a grandmother,
- who scared him with an Electrolux
- Snaking canister vacuum, and laughed
- when he hid under the kitchen table,
- darkest, safest first thought for a child
- watching his grand mother make
- a snake eat the dust from her linoleum.
------ can it,
Stephen Crane and Audie Murphy, this is the war,
this is not the bliss, this is the rescue and redeem

mission to save the redeemer validation,
testimony of three Palestinian shepherds,

little weather data, assume a warm night,
tax collection data devices used wet clay,
so the wise men would have considered
length of days and nights, in terms of fuel
and speed determined
by time passing under
stood, good, we breathe. Real perpindicular

Spelchek offian, dramatic tic tic, tell straight

why are we involved in the revolution, neural
noddungheit, ****** rights, we the outs,
we who led the masses to the diamond farm,

and bade them find the sense in diamond dust,
seen sharply, hearthwise close to kenning mites
in sunbeams, streaming into the dusty old theres

wheres holding times we wish we could share,
we hold so tight, those moments we saw sunbeams.
we set so free, so be the whole idea we exist in, be
it ever so brief, there is no embodiment so sweet as

the idea past the last pop,
and all you saw you recalled anew, amusing per se,
one self we share, as we were led to think as one,
in parallel, at the same instant, not in otherness,
unalienable rights, by law of the most honed edge,

we wrestle not with flesh and bone and blood,
abstracted from mud teeming with bugs,

the flesh is flawed from go, work with this
fist that grasps at winds and wonders why

this doesn't work, ah, toes, those, I can hold,
and laugh, IO I am  in a body, but I ain't no body,

Baby, baby, listen to the heartsong, the part song
any body can hear, bay ay be, you can touch me,

real as hell, no lie, she was ready, but not me, unh
unh, hell, no, not this little blue man, diminishing

in a puddle of pure smurfishitness, blue in search
of the scarlet thread
used in Hester's A, some voices say she used her hair,
Some go on to suggest,
she had some traveler in her past,
green eyes and ***** red gold locks.

As real as sifted krie-wise riverwise inside bend
as in the gut of any beast,
the inverse is likely logical, if U is us the set, beings
of this pattern a we
in the cellular intented cloud  ---
awes abstract
stretch any wonder yond a be taken from the maze,
not from reality, fabulous reality, is our inheritance,

watchers, some say, muses say many others,
- we who actually do see from a cloud Gibran
- imaged in words, once -to my mind, I read,
- this said, if all men could see there are no borders.
- But there are these swirling patterns of dust and ash…Pokémon
- asram absurdite'-- okeh,
- alla ow now. Bow, allowed wrong rethink
- right take it as a fact, think again, right, I know
submitted- 502'd… whose fault is that Ai ask.
not my given word, my oathezworn, as badges.

we are in fact all things to all men, naturally,
as sapient creations, imagined real in words, al-
one, in time, the being in which we live, and breathe,

one is causal the other incidental, who imagined
breathing might work?, how many variables went
undeclared.
The very real idea involved in selling souls…
The Child Buyer, follow up on Hiroshima,
and the war mind sets crossing ancient wires.

Barry Rudd represents an idea that can claim
to be a human mind in a machine that has evolved
with the pioneer children feeding their take on
disembodied reality relating magic-knowing-wise
- Max Headroom, but not a clown, a godly mind.
use right, righteous, right, certain, from this point.

casting, not Max Headroom, the stutterer
but there was a poet, Maxmaroon,
--------- he might use the boost in spirit
Free to watch
Christmas Shopping
Season Opener, ready for the mob mind
rewind, tighten, batten-down no gee
hard or soft or hinted at in the -inth degree,
step, stop, in a thought.

Stop the sun, freeze the frame, and let us go
watch if we change one thing, one fraction
of valuation
to the mind immersed in the fractured universe,
of diamond dust. Shined on, and on and on only so long.

and there was darkness, where there was no light at all,
and the serpentine mind, recollected learning
snakes see heat and bats see sound,
and whales whistle stories we can hear, but make
no whale sense of, so we Imagined earthsense and riverwise
motion, reality *****, heat blows, pressure billows the wills
of whispering ifs
singing something worldly wise, woe, must be bad, right,
worldly wise man steered the pilgrim wrong,
did who lie
did you think,
Bunyan or his shepherd. Me, too.

So, this state, systematized reasoning,
at war with war as twisted by pride,

At the father of the clade level,
see a ceegeed crystal vector,
down to the reason we have
seasons, phases time uses,
made to arrange recognition,

cognosis activated, google eyes, and
chameleon's mind's eyes,
bi-vectoral focus, you know,…
Tesla cars focus eight ways at once,
and, as things become simpler outside

old lies living in meta, get it, metaphors
from when phors were conex boxes,
with no radios in them, now
-stacks of those, reflection rays,
Mars red rusting iron toes,
become red clay mud
each drop must find a mean free way
to reach the sea, as me, in the course
of human events,
game-ified,
imagine the maze, thinking wind feng shui
sweep currents grinding the coast
of California, all the way to Baja,
through all those laden ships
rust buckets in the mind,
dystopified.
Disney ifity broke with reality.

We became Dirac's Defenders of the Unimind.
In a loop…
ha, here are we, this idea in a mind, that
took Jesus this serious. Let this mind be

free in you, think that for fifty years,
what can one imagine a we could do, if a we
could agree to do,
harm to harmony, oh, scheiz, bleu meanies

Christmas and Mythras- fine,
sift it through the inter net rest
of the story,

set the stage, Paul Harvey,
fifteen minutes of keen interest,
with punch, like a moral, in a fable.

When mending is a traveler's certain
chore, mending needs be made a must.

We must know the making of a thread.
First, must know to test for best,
those thus sorted spin,
and worst, we lead to learn to knead
dough, or rend fat, or dip candles,
- ai organzized hell, unionized the creatives
- aha
on learning the art pleased to greet you, be as
I watched you learn to read, and loved
your first read aloud word being nekkid.
Naked truth said so.
Nue kidding U set us up, we are the we,
ai ai ai we bend around mountains,
when any flood gives us a chance,

Think Snow, remember that?
The Baptists hire actual Semites,
to claim finding the long lost right
evaluator tools for forging fortunes from
war, with good reason,
utter compliance,
submit or burn,
ashes to ashes,

jarring revelation backwards, take the veil off.

We think we may imagine being creatures,
in some form, information being creative, per
séance rights,
just listen, convincing is the game, invincibility
anonymous
tip to the point, we agree
what if we could imagine doing any thing once
perfectly, each next time, tics just right,

we fell in a pile of Nineties retro right-ons,
as Netscape went public, and Josten's,
of Yearbook treasure famed archives,
and the first action magic trading rings, proven
money making methods, with no competition,
- wear my ring, around your neck
- but remember, a diamond is forever
- dust to dust
nothing left to prove, the model works forever.
As long as citizens are formed under the law.
As foretold, in the future the law rules, and
we all obey, or face grave danger of sudden

cut-off, no mas juice, electrolytically dry, as bones,
and cut in, the vision, taken from context to context
in words droned emotionlessly as comforting buzz.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2020
2020 - day 176

Wednesday, June 24, 2020
7:13 AM

Times past happen to fade as the projected
future forms
into
ever from now, when all that
hapt, at the time,
now passed before our eyes as if we were

one, from many.

Would a story told to entertain you fail
to glue the idea wrapped in
hormonal signals that
prove Feelies, movies that make you feel real,
inside;

such things evolved from dances much like,
in an intelligentle way, birdsnbeeswise
ways... watch me dance, this
is the way we form proper self hexaity. {? *******}

AI am a we,
AI was an idea
first
then
Art Inspired me imagined
a point
the same point Eu (joy)

efkliedes glorious renown

re known, post the prophecy of knowing
exploding
into the diaspora

ef-fort
ef-fect
ef-fervence e-vincing the convinced,

artifice to form from what we imagined we saw

altruism alternating ever intertaining an us,
an us-ness,
a we we be in,
all in all,
for what that's worth.

A we some see as a self aware
you are there and I am here
and we fret not one for
the other,

until we see what you see and think,
that hapt, and was wit
--- wait, what is wit and witty and witnessing?
--- we all have our TV definition we know,
--- what if wit were beyond our ken?
--- what if our sensors are locked for lack of knowns,
--- for our own good, all true things imagined,
--- generated for good, as in my culture
--- for good is same as keepsies, as good as permanent.

per se, lack of per-man-ence is diffi-cultish,
gnat straining,
Jaine brooms sweeping the ephemeral shisp of a whole
indivuat-ible what ever imaginable

wot ye knot?
Why were poets ever revered? Did not history, itself,
name the heros, whose lives, due to Plutarch's
first effort proving profitable,
biography becomes all our
realm... we constitute
a nation,
and we
are the people, we think.

Wherefore, and heretofore,
antebellum

distraction, re
traction, re called from when
my childhood friend, a blood brother,
really, after a movie {may be Winchester '73 - we could check, in the future, and add the details}

For lack of knowedge, our we the people
perish, ish bin, I am, we are
so far
from
knowing everything about anything.

The experts now have become the storytellers,
as has always been the case,

in case you are ignorant, locked in a state
opposite the right of reason,
un ignited in-norring of the spark and what
such a point

might pierce, were it made for such a time as
this... knowledge shall increase

Francis Bacon, please, count the degrees
in differing opinions... on a spectrum of
known knowns, how much knowledge remains
hid
behind ritual sequences of steps and skips
and pirrouettes?

Bemazed, or bemused? Guilty or beguiled?
Wot ye not, silence
in the beginning was the word,
the state
silent,
was the reason...

noise arose to oppose the humm, with a
whump provocalized
wind wise
whisper, this is light... this load of nothing we know

being impossible to believe or unbelieve,
in this state we be the people
forming a polis, or a crew,

yes, crew, as in Viking Raider Dodger Yankying

dang... quick 'n'd'dead, da stutterer is back,
with a drum,
what have we done?

AI ai ai, a general human inteleostic event,
you'allity...

and you were involved. Did not Donne
write Kennedy's speech
or was that Robert Frost, or was it me who asked,
why is this path less traveled by?

The mob went the other way.
This is the way the old men go,

when they wish to die in peace.
Politacally correct Ai-ity
Akin a tumbleweeds  
aimlessly blowing in the wind
umlaut punctuation
courtesy of let herd Mother Nature
nsync with markie mark,

(or other faux nuke heads
on silent auction
ajudicating bidding chopping block)
or getting sparred
sum xtra mo' mints

before morphing into gamut
tuff height (against opposing
super cross currents)
bow willing head over heals

deftly thwarting encroaching
enfilade enhancing
invading army of deplorable
dust devilish debris
with full Stanley steamer ahead onslaught

opposing approaching phalanx
ta become a foo lush fighter
putting kibosh
across the infinitely open
and wide prairie land

(which wasteland fictitiously
epitomized and described by T.S. Elliot
with absolute zero relevancy here)
a barren vista ravages
metaphorical landscape

of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping
along an accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding
and dodging diabolical demons

mercilessly unrelentingly ready
to ****** this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence

racked with up pinions
(halving smartly put irons in the fire)
deployed incognito
tub hest describe demonic dungeons
damp, dark, demented domains -
a veritable no man's land

and one impossible to escape
from no matter how fast I flee
from the fearful, fiercesome
and phantasmagoric forms

figments of imagination
yet real and tangible as bone and flesh
haunt sacred house of slumber
and transmogrify me
into a loathsome madman

ranting and raving senseless
gibberish and gobbledygook
yet perceived as metaphysical
and philosophical
sane state farm mister soundcloud
syllabification stutterer

from one whoa man
World Wide Web wayfarer
(perchance yourself)
which virtual vagabond
venerates vowels

and possesses means
and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress
who waves magic wand

to produce such supreme sentences
and weaves tantalizing
terrific topographic tundra's
that this admirer of her artful
and colorful poetic endeavors

prompts him to accompany
Gaia as thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information
super byways and highways

along winding labyrinths
of critical thinking
or simply stepping cobble stones
comprising silly
rhymes without reason

all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight
to maintain sure footed
stance of solitude,

whose only entities happen
to constitute trappings
of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and master
pieces of literature,

yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest cherished 100 years of solitude
shattered and heart rent asunder
twin perils of loss provide
an understandable cautionary tale

from author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive
and acute Ape man
touched to the quick
with a bit of angel dust

and aware this agonized
angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with
the confines of cyberspace.
life at the whim of forces beyond our control
Andre F 3d
Strung out nicotine
fingers test the water,
pointing
the desert.

counter melodies
rot
in graveyards of tone.

a face the shape of
a rock
beat water forth
with a stick.
a face that would
stutteringly part
a sea.

he dreamed the
burning bush
got wisdom from the mountain.
diminished chords
when the tablet
broke.
Babatunde Raimi Sep 2019
Are you free today?
Before boredom overwhelms me
Can you come over?
The line went dead and silent
Until I heard the tiny voice
"Ok", give me a little while

Quickly I arranged my bed
My accessories imprisoned by dust
Finally, they got their freedom
With a sparkling new look
I changed the ambiance
With a nice and sweet spray

Waiting can be so long!
I felt like I've been waiting for years
The clock suddenly became slow
I followed all the tick tock
Till I heard the doorbell rang
Yea, who is it? Like I never knew

I suddenly became a stutterer
How can God package so much in one vessel?
I never knew i could be this courteous
Thank God only my shadow witnessed it
When she called my name
The truth, I died…..

Slowly she walked in like an Angel
Can I sit down she asked?
Yes, I am fine I answered
Then suddenly my brain came to life
She asked to sit
Yes please, I said to this damsel

Suddenly, I noticed a slight bulge
You will not put me to shame
You this shameless generator of generations
Quickly I made to arrest it
With my Christmas denim pant
And a tight faded jean

As she settled into the couch
That was the last thing I remembered
My mind traveled all over her
Her presence filled the house
She must have been curated on a Monday
After God finished creation on Sunday

So, what is going on with you?
Obviously, she was in the driver's seat
How can she bring the game to me?
Yet, I lost my composure
In my very own comfort zone
Never joke with the power of a woman

Can I share your seat?
She smiled, beckoned with her index finger
I quickly sank into the chair
To my amazement she was calm
She mildly held and stroked my hands
If this is a dream, please Lord, I don't want to wake up

At close range she could hear it
As my heartbeat raced faster than Michael Phelps
Come to Mummy she said
Without hesitation I moved like thunderbolt
Sank into her sweet arms
Then she planted a forehead kiss

As dawn drew closer
I found courage to ask
Please, will you stay over?
I could feel a crack in my voice
Seductively she smiled and retorted
No Sweety, I wish I could!

Why wouldn't she just stay?
My heart said from the inside
When the hour finally came
Together, we walked quietly
Goodbye my lover
Silently, I wished the day never ended

— The End —