Sleek

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  • Fantasy

    Sleek

    They all say I am sick

    Cos I have eyes only for her

    Then I lost my sight

    And felt only my feel

     

    Her sun burns through me

    Her moon, my after glow

    Her laughter breaks my chains

    Her touch, torching my skin

     

    I strive and strain

    To hold on, hold back

    The sky broke

    Merging with an endless sea

     

    Now I see

    Beyond the ache of my flesh

    Emptied of yester-night

    Am I sick? Her name is Sleek.

     ---Bobtee.

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    Bobtee’s Poems (2)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
    Sleek 0 05/20/2009
    Intercourse..
    .    		 0 05/19/2009
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