Shoot From The Hip Poem by Timmy Curran
Shoot From The Hip
Bliss is a word I miss
A feeling too slippery
Sleep with an angel
never with misery
Balmy nights, whimsical frights
Demure aromas coming from
the refinery where
an eager man sits
Out the windows a smoking man cooks,
his little boy with him
watching the crooks,
caught in a moment of vanity
passing a store window, took a look at me
Saturday, May 7, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: miscellaneous
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5/4/2024 1:01:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
