We’re Painting The Roses Red

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We’re painting the roses red
When I spill my bottle of wine
Laughing the silly words we said
Running through the sunshine


Gathering inspiration to write
Leaning against their picket fence
Together & the songs we recite
Friendship allows life to make sense

I Wonder

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I wonder if she realizes to what extent
How her existence teases me so
She exudes passion & beauty
She looks delicious & I want to know

Her blessings spilling out of her shirt
Perhaps unbuttoned a bit too far
She’s oblivious to my attentions
With her facade cracked slightly ajar

I try to remain with respectful intent
Though my curiosities want probed
I’ll just be waiting over here
In the off chance she becomes disrobed

Watching The Paper Soak Up Errant Coffee

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Watching the paper soak up errant coffee
Spillage; correcting the bland, empty page
Blocked before you wasted the elixir of life
Words summoned now like a pensive sage

Freely letting loose a volley of images
We are released to our new mode of narration
Blinded aesthetics on a crisp winter morning
Forever allowed to remain alive in short bursts of inspiration

Counting Out The Steps

Counting out the steps
Crawling on all fours
One, two three, one two, three
You deny the circus, but they’re really yours

Giving her another twirl
We’re standing naked & stark
You speak your pretentious slang
Only exposed in the dark

I’m here with your midnight medicine
My beautiful babe, bottoms up!
But I remain steadfast
Watching you spill out of your lace cups

Quietly Returning Home

Quietly returning home
Feels like it has been a lifetime
Hard to recognize this place
Without all the peripheral grime
You stagger & greet me
Spilling your swill on the floor
I’m confused by your glee
I was never good enough before
You tell me your interests
But I can’t really give a damn
No desire to be anything
That’s not who I already am