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PoeticStyle
Poetry is like water, I drink it excessively
And speak it like its feather brushing air,
“So elegant”
Your ears seek comfort of my words to rock you to depravation
It’s so elegant sex deprives passion
From my syllables passion
I am who I am and poetry is my mistress
We make words together forever with the freshest lips,
And I’m still the only one to have ever kissed her, and made her
Verse in hypnotic convulsion
Yet I still have yet to reach the minds of her patrons
I guess she’s like liquor to the deaf
They just can’t handle her words and contradictions.
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