My Poetry Soup Recipe

MY POETRY SOUP RECIPE Connie girl makes her poetry soup in the bedroom accompanying her cat purring in full bloom. Bone that little duck, add a little muck, bone that little duck, add a little muck. Bring it to a boil, get a taste of that chuck, bring it to a boil, get a taste of that chuck. That's Connie in echo. In soliloquy, in deep dark thought, in intrigue, in her own little dark world. She lays in repose on her bed, in the buff, drawing inspiration as she pets her cat. Her written words take many shapes and forms. Word play and innuendo is her goose to her duck. Sexual explicit, whips and clips, the burning candle wax are her muck to chuck. She laughs as she writes. A clown behind the mask, a playful seal bobbing a beach ball, she adds a pinch of sugar now and then, like the daughter's joy of a bunny hop, and the kids skiing on the bunny trail. She even cries, too, adding onions of her past, tears directed at a baker that baked her goose. You see. I hope you do. To complete her soup she adds an aphrodisiac, for good cheer. This ingredient laughter. To get it up. Now you see what I mean, that's Connie. connie pachecho 1/17/17