1 Comment

Back-logging cont.

More past poetry about women. Surprised?



Spilled like paint.

Splatter the walls, with thick strokes of thanks.

Tell her that she’s pretty.


Before she forgets me.


Palms are even turning clammy

And I’m perspiring anxiety

So if you look you understand me.

Beads of sweat,

Piled up.

You’re gonna sense my nervousness.

Stop and play it cool, fool.

Gonna get yourself questioned,

Like what are you hiding?

While I’m still searching for the hidden lesson.

Can tell you got several.

Skeletons are piling high,

Willing to discuss ’em

When you’re loved

Laying ’round, pillow talking between back-rubs.

When you admit it all,

Exposing beyond the built up walls you guard.

Takes a lot to trust,

Both keeping suspicions up.

But truthfully, you can use me.

Please abuse me, ruthlessly.

And your beauty, contains the answers.

Forces me to fumble flawless grammar.

Glamor in your goals,

Somehow back by morals

Your hair twirls,

Shaping your curls

Stringing strands through your fingers.

Your exit always seems to,

Leave this trace of you that lingers.

So now you got me walking busy streets,


Listening completely

Hoping your voice, will be the one to greet me.

Face it, we both know

Quiet remains the evening.


One comment on “Back-logging cont.

  1. Glad to be one of the visitors on this awe inspiring web site : D.


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