Rude, Drunken Pen

Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess, All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words, Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect, My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest. Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue 2nd October 2012 Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest