Poets

I don't know whether to consider it considerate or prideful But I'd rather roll in coals and coil my soul with a barbed wire one-eyed cobra Just to show you that My emotion for you is

I forgot how to write My God it's not sounding right The way I'd shape my face by phrase on a page The shades I'd make cry, pray, and praise your name

She was intelligent enough not to tell the gentleman of The access card to her madness of heart He played strong suits in case his suitcase didn't make The pursuit in hand soon cut to the chase