Under the Table

psst
psst come
closer cause
i know your type

can't seem
to write am i
right thinking
your muse left

you so oh
dear oh deary
do what to do with
out her inside my mind

i've got
a quick fix
just slip one
of these in when

in doubt
i'll try my best
to match your style
and mums the word

but it seems
you seem to
have some
sort of

conscience
and matter
of factuality
to some

degree of
something
higher then
your very

being
so be on
your way
for i don't

sell
to those
who are
already

slaves
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Pigeon Tart Avatar
October 25, 2019 at 2:42 PM
I'm stroking my beard a la The Thinker. Ok, slight exaggeration, my whiskers.
Connelly Avatar
October 26, 2019 at 4:01 PM
If all goes well, early February.
Pigeon Tart Avatar
October 25, 2019 at 8:49 PM
My brain is shite at the moment. Nerves of jelly. We have rats. Heard one in the cuboard last night, opened the door it ran into my one foot, then the other, I screamed like a banshee. Hope on the horizon though, for my brain anyway, I have just ordered a nasal photobiomodulation device, near infrared light therapy. Enough about me, when do you get to see your sweet?
Pigeon Tart Avatar
October 25, 2019 at 8:31 PM
...they're blonde. Before my whiskers grew I had already embraced a small mole on my chin line that grows long curly hairs; affectionately called my Thinking Mole. The moustache however, those ttwo hairs I do pluck ;p
Connelly Avatar
October 25, 2019 at 8:06 PM
Im sure your whiskers are dear, and red at that; but I didn't stroke mine but scratched, "Oh I can't write that!!!" But she patted my head and said it was okay. Time to dust you off and take you off your shelf. Her and I have many Cartagena plans to make for ourselves. Thank you Maureen.
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