Tess is a female, fiercely alone,
spawning allure and irresistible desire,
a juggler of men, fueling their fire.
Tossing gifts toward their ends,
tossing flowers and fancy,
tossing caresses and perfume,
tossing their way to her, they aspire
to presume their dreams of her wanting for them were hers,
Men too often and their women, too,
realize her power and deceit too late;
Tess tossed her own.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
And Wacky Am I
And now wacky am I, I thank you, mother, for the days I take no pill; the oak table that folds upon itself, a hinge, a turn, a hidden b...
-
Thank you for joining in this journey with me. Do you hate it when someone calls some simple pencil scratches on paper accelerated into a bo...
-
Walked past, by your place today, in the neighborhood, you know, scouting poetry at a bum academic show of a score of miserable poets'...
-
My country, 'tis of thee, If thou hadst the quiet pride of integrity, of strength and of courageous intensity, Thy leaders all, all m...
No comments:
Post a Comment