The macabre light burns the pillows from my eyes
And I pile all the princesses in bed
Just because it’s raining doesn’t mean we have to sleep
The sky is the dress I look up a little sheepishly
I flipped a dollar bill and called it in the air
I left a pink message at the restaurant
When you finally appeared the dust had settled
The underwire of the night was about to dig in
And I don’t know if it’s nonsense or not
Because whichever direction I select
We end up at the same place
A swashbuckling evening in puddles
Conspired to fasten glory and fame
I powered the princesses with solar energy
And a size extra medium pancake battery
Swept the tenses I will have been using
Or having had used once
Or upon the usingness of what the use was
Under a rug for under a dollar
So the poem ended but was late
Because it was delayed and interfered with
By belaboring the point as long as possible
Which somehow all means I love you
Edward Hotspur
I love the looking up the sky’s dress line. That is the sexy voyarism of mother nature… which makes you a special kind of a pervert… and writer.
Mother Nature is a MILF
I knew you wouldn’t back peddal on that one.
My bike doesn’t work backwards.
Not even on a hill?
I’m already over the hill
A clever reply. More clever than mine, I fear.
Don’t fear stuff
You should put that on a t-shirt… and sell them to people who fear not being cool and not fitting in.
Not fitting in the t-shirt?
That is funny. But you know I meant being left out in the fashion sense of the word… Oh, I see the problem… I meant not fitting IN… sorry. That time I was not trying to sow confusion. It just sewed itself.
Sew’s your face. That’s what the plastic surgeon said.
Dude, you are okay in my book. Just remember that. Also, if all the ladies on your blog knew just exactly how large your member was, you’d probably get a lot more views, if you catch my meaning.
I haven’t yet found a tasteful and kid-friendly way to bring that point up… (that sounded way wronger than I meant it, by the way)…
I am impressed.
Thanks!