A Poem In Your Pocket
Can rip you to the core
Make you soar through the back door
Explore Bangor from the floor
Bring you more noir, or a war you swore
you’d deplore.
You’d score points with the Biltmore
crowd with a poem in your pocket.
They’d fall for
A white-glove
a shove from above
Another encore of love
To save us all from falling into the abyss
I’m sure we wouldn’t miss
The kiss between Elizabeth and Robert Browning
or the dip of her quill when she wrote
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”
Or as he swooned with bliss
From her bed to his soft core, wanting more.
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