pssive w nker

Off The Cuff … Of A Bone (A Rebutt) - Poem by pssive w nker

Tonight …

off the bone and against the dry …
my siren swirls and does not cease fire

Your voices lift me to burn with desire
and if the raconteurs or the Gods
were just a little pleased
once more I’d go down and bend my tree

stay fit, keep health and spore me ample
I’ve had a taste and I’ll keep the sample..

Of famine and pest I shudder to think
but please come to bed I want to drink

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, February 11, 2009

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