~ My innocuous Poems … ~

~ My innocuous Poems … ~

Each a typical prototype,

Of any, of many,

Analogous gripes …

They simulate,

The uncertainties, same as in wuthering moors,

The bogging down,

Tinglings, those in my spine …

Biting nails,

Fidgeting feet,

Modest goose-bumps,

On the skin of fidelity, so ripe,

Fingers combing,

Getting tangled in the knots,

Of hair, twisted, tousled, unknowingly,

Grumbling in the pit,

Of hunger, lost an eon before,

Peevish, puckered, a need … 

A yen, ever so undeniable, ever so insatiable …

Jibbing, snarling,

To the ruffled sheet,

Fringes, loosened, so happy,

Batting childishly, on the dark Mahogany wood …

Pretend of a Cougar, as if they are,

Demanding for more,

More than I can defray,

With each fickle of my misty wrist …

At every fold of the page,

Tethered to my spatting, leaking, puzzled pen,

Hitchhiking at every possible concord,

Posing with jutted thumb, in all directions,

Every night … such flaringly cuspid, yet so benign …

And all I can offer them, is nothing, but,

A synthesized ‘beginning’ … a capricious ‘flight’ …

For the ‘end’ … is for them … to choose ……

Then, I’d just lazily sit back and … Smile!