crankyAnother poem came today while I was writing on my NANO. It absolutely does not fit in a tale called Whine, Whinny and Song...
I notice that as soon as rhyme pops into my poetry, the quality drops, or so it seems to me.
Dissatisfaction
Habitual pat,
Perfunctory glance,
Surely this is not
The tailings of romance.
Wild hugs, French kisses
When we first wed,
As we dashed, clothes a-flying,
Into the bed.
Pot bellies, sagosis,
Wrinkled skin, creaking knees;
Wham, bam; “Thank you, sir, or ma’am”,
Gone, the effort to please.
Is that all there is?
All there ever will be
‘Til the last gallop into the sunset,
The final sail out to sea?
Blame an excess of Harlequin romances and tons of folks sharing their marriage break-ups with me... DON'T get paranoid on me. This is an amalgam, not the result of any one person's experience...
