your hideous smile
in that reflected light;
arrested I stand on top of thee
I meddle with your hands
tackle you to the ground
your doozy look can fool others
(mainly that woozy limpet in your arms)
you don't have a single bone in you
otherwise I would be gnawing you to pieces
a caricature of a poet, a masquerade
(read this fact in his own words)
here I toast to you
one of my masterpieces
"I bow almost to the ground, topple over on top of you"
I dedicate this poem to Percy Bisque Silley: A Romantic Dandy who accused me here, that I have forgotten to write poetry. I reproduce his words for ready reference:
Percy Bisque Silley said...
I do not count Mineself amongst thy Toadies and shall not leave the sort of vain and idle "Rah, rah!" to which you have grown accustomed, Miss.
Your words here are a poor excuse, if I may be so bold, for a Poetic Post.
No doubt you languish on a sofal watching your American football on your widescreen TV from your flat in the Bronx and cannot be bothered with a poem at this time...
With Stern Reproofly