morning comes
she stands akimbo
spewing wrath
at the mere hint
of weakness
in all aplomb
yet in limbo
for her free path
is strewn with the lint
of amorousness
her heart's aflutter
it spies an angel
amidst blissful snores
morning breath
smelly farts et al
the love-laced clutter
of her mind is in danger
as her spirit soars
in a lustful spate
only to fall
a welcome quagmire
beckons and embraces
sucking her in
to notorious places
after all she thinks
freedom is lackluster
until it goads
fettered passion to fester
(c) VedicVerses
8 comments:
Excellent poem :)
Thanks Marco! :)
Is this inspired by a first-hand experience?
Isn't all art inspired by some kind of first-hand experience? When you come to think of it, whether you live it or hear of it in an involved way, its equally first-hand in the way you are affected by it, right?
No. If you hear of it, it is a second-hand experience.
ah! perhaps you are too scientific my friend... let me just say, if I wanted to elucidate, I would've... you need to know me a while before I would... thanks for taking the time to visit.
Post a Comment