Poems don’t have to rhyme
as long as they fit into a certain time
which is enjambment.
Much like my life:
A loose collection of puns
and writing
and wanting too much
and being too little
and loving too hard

Cara Delevingne’s
fit terribly on her face
they’re like obscene
black caterpillars
drawing the attention away from her stupidly average body
and her big forehead
and her ugly smile
down to her deep brown eyes.

But those censor bars sometimes
make you look at the hazel eyes
which make up my favourite leaves
and season
and beautifully green to whatever,
called foliage,
and I fall… too fast
for a soft smile
and kind voice
and warm hug.

And I become eager to share the things I do
and do oh so well
which she enjoys
so that I can hear her unfeigned laugh,
time stands still then
her insecurities fall away
two people
just us
enjoying life
and each other
and I fuck it up

When someone tastes like hope
and joy
my heart beats less erratically
I am at peace
and calm
I am then more of a man,
more than less of a man.


Posted on 8 Mei 2019, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Lewer kommentaar.

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