I sway like a sea sick sailor

Each time I come into this room,

Breathing too deeply the stale air

Of legality in which I have no faith

A lost soul a sea of opinions

I cannot share,

Staring at the walls and floor

Like a scolded school boy,

Waiting for the crack of ruler

Over the back of my hands

For what goes on in my head.




I see sparks fly

When ever she moves

Shoulders covered with a shawl

That adds mystery to

Who she is

And her shape,

Old Fashion tinged with tease

Making me shiver

Though it is not cold

This shape of propriety

Making me ache to

Crawl inside and bend my shape

Around her shape,

To make other kinds of sparks fly




She always makes me shiver,

And ache so deep it feels

Like an earth quake

She, decorated and polished,

Floats in and out of this place

As if floating on air

Her pursed lips needing a key

To open

With me hoping

Mine will do




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