Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

A Touching Poem


Come soft words
I barely, liberaly use.
And either cup, I move aside
the worlds blown up.
Twin peeks colide, as rivers
run there course.
Warm breath,
blown their, confide as well
could even more, be still upon.
Up and down the moving waves,
as music moves the shore.
When you do, your hand it moves,
I can not drink, but more.

Submitted: Monday, August 16, 2010
Edited: Wednesday, May 18, 2011
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