Obsessed
Staring into an empty sea-blue Picasso.
Winking,blinking and greasing my wet nose,
Trying to discerpher the rune in my upper
torso.
To see, if I shall for once, think strait.
Then upon my thoughts, I sat;
Thoughts of her; and of her.
Thoughts, that once sufficed the brute, I was,
And of odysseys across her angelic form.
Of Rome, Greece and savage Persians,
Of wars waged and love made.
Of souls of immortals slain,
And of odysseys across her angelic form.
So, I laid upon my sweaty quill.
Yet in my long ashored ado.
Scribling; scribling upon a wet cotton
napkin;
Thoughts of her; and of her alone.
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