Like cowboys we stood
Hands on our hips
Holsters at the ready
Blood on stretched, dry lips
Eye to eye
Looked you up... then down
Surveyed your form
With a thoughtful frown
Then loaded my gun
With words of pure lead
Intending to deliver them
Straight to your head
But I fumbled and lost
Grip and aim
As you spun your weapon
In a well worked game
Love the lead to the head bit. I truly does stumble, fumble in the last few lines. Intentional?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
AMANDA, THIS IS THE BEST SO FARE....YOU CAN SEE THE PICTURES IN YOUR WORDS.....