Let's Try This

Disclaimer: Please note to thyself, I do not consider yours which is truly, a poet by any means on any plain of any space and/or time.

So with that being said, this person won't know it (because they don't follow my blog or even know it exists), but I'm sued-o mocking them. Plus, the description of something I was telling my extremely funny and good friend last night, gave him inspiration to unintentionally provide me with a good jumping off point. So I'll take the first line he gave me and go from there. . .





Blue.
The color of sky and water.
Purple.
A coat on a crazy.
Black.
Sometimes jet. Sometimes a Greek pastry.
Sometimes a very large penis. Mr. Attell knows that much.
I am the poet, you are the most inconsiderate blob of Wii-fit flesh.
We both were made and not for each other.

He was right when he said that sorrow can smell you.
Like a hunter it tracks you.
Like a hug it holds you.
Like a chain it binds you.
Fucks you.
Like a rape'e alone in the park where no one can hear the cries for help.

He was right when he said the world moves for love.
It kneels before it in awe.
Smiles in it's passing, and feels it's warmth like a blanket in the cold.
Hears it's words and feels it's comfort like a grandmother's forehead kiss.
If you're lead by love. . .

The pity I didn't have before swells to great volumes in regards to your self-regard to bukkake my feelings you never once considered. Only to laugh about them later and how I hold them dear.