cherry pants
My mind isfair to mild
this morning I
sense a storm
forming;
thunder hides the conflict
in my head
lightening reveals
her cherry
red pants* on my bed.
quietly she stands
misunderstood
a rebel between causes
she pauses
but does not
stop
to think
why
I could not die
for the stars
on her back.
She spends her days
in pyjamas
acting out tv
dramas
her mama's yelling
up the stairs
to get a
life.
she tells me
some days she wishes
she could
die.
I push her
up against
the wall
and kiss her
like I mean it
Her cherry red
pants
have me entranced
but like the men in
Holytown I can't
pin her down
she laughs
because she knows
she's as elusive
as the wind
and her love
is like
sugar free tv
*pants in the UK is the same as panties
Poetry by clay
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Written on 2007-10-20 at 11:50
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Rob Graber |
