Deb Gs Syllabillables
hot air is what i mist,
syllables don't get as crisp,
less yer hanging by hand of wrist,
but the great fall from cliff is inviting:)
betwining betwixt,
nah i don't lisp,
just roof of me mouth bloody lining,
no rum i aint pist,
just some syllables missed,
2 short says Deb,
she's divining....
Don Johnson
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
