i'm no prophet
.
There's no prophesying drooling 'bout
mine thought's lips
Only
What before me
Glistering
you too see
I'm not the prophet
From mine eyne's eccentric
Into the depths uv your
hear
Anomalous many they are
tempt
thrust
transcend
Amorous though each their thought
For
From mine lips digits
You read mine see
"hers
spinning
in the oak's leaves
bedazzling mine
draped in her white sweater dress
just az sweet az yestermonth
crossing mine ready
in her pink morning tea pima frock"
Her pretty's about to say 'goodnight james'
I'm certain she's about to kiss me
to shut me up
i gave her the frock ;)
Copyright © James Peranteau | Year Posted 2023
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