Wit.

An experiment!

Sparkling wit does stir hatred in this viral mind,

A plucking hand is swift to move upon mine,

Great forces never stand a chance to move him,

Sly grins have found a way to settle in line.

 

Making noises like fantastic farm animals,

I yeild only to pleasure myself only tender,

A wip has use for those that bend to will,

Beauty in paint for masters to come and render.

 

Make haste, make love, make blood to see,

Our hands rest south of tickle lines again,

Casual and meaningless is forever my friend,

To scream and yell and through my out, when?

 

Wispy curls I hate when scrathing upon skins,

Feelings are useless when aired and heal,

Greenery, tankless and glass display your heat,

I must get to you, for only me to feel.

Author's Note

Honesty always!

Reviews

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

@Danielle, I never get mad, and thank you for spotting it my darling! x

[Danielle Renee]

Very interesting. Reminds me of the poem "anyone lived in a pretty how town" by e.e. cummings, specifically the 3rd paragraph. Also, a side note: yield, not yeild (don't get mad; you said to be honest!).

[BS Johnson]

Wow, Thomas. Interesting use of words, well played. :)

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

@Teri - my own intelligence.

[Teri B]

What is this an experiment in, Thomas?