I enter a candlelit room.
All the women I've ever dated
are passing around the love poems
I gave them, and guess what?
It's the same poem. My sweet
[put your name here], if I was God
I'd make flowers smell like the back
of your neck, trees with trunks
as soft as your thighs. When we kiss
I feel like a cheerleader being
crushed to death by a giant pom-pom.
Jeffrey McDaniel
4 comments:
should you be getting over this , and getting on with your life..you are young, there are many many more people in the great wide world....Whose lives are probably more at the stage yours is at.....We all need to be responsible for the things we do in our lives...and perhaps remember what fun we had...and move on??....
¿what? :)))
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "otherwise you wouldn't have come here."
:))))
(looks like it was your turn, this time! :p)
so many crazy people in the great wide world... don't you think?
*
i can't let myself analize it too much when there's so much washing to be done:)))
but i guess it's to do with each one's "inner police" - letting or not letting oneself do/say certain things.
the last post is for you. policeman said ok:)
bj
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