A guy with a bag full of poems

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We have sex often

seldom though do

we make love.

Over a chair she

bends while I

pretend I'm the

milkman, filling

her up with my

goodness.

I can't remember

when we both

undressed slowly

and took our time

to just only look

into each other's

eyes, kiss, fondle

each other's flesh.

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Sarah, please kiss me

as I list like a sinking

ship in a grassy meadow.

Please hold my face in

your hands and tell that

I can achieve anything

with your love, even become

balanced in my mind.

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She makes me a cup

of coffee after I've just

begged her for alcohol.

I am shaking uncontrollably!

She fetches a blanket and

tries to wrap it around me,

I shout at her, angrily! she

shudders, cries, then tries

to comfort me.

I call her all the names under

the sun, I try to break her spirit;

I scream at her at the top of my voice

I want whisky, rum!

in the end she succumbs.

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I think I will close this account,

and go back to writing poetry

with pen and paper in a note book.

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I like women more than i

like men, I think they should

control the world because

they make the best friends.

Men can be so rude, dominant,

never open to discussion; men

won't ever listen, don't show

much concern, are basically

selfish, stubborn, won't ever

learn!

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I fold a piece of paper

seven times, I tried to

fold it eight times even

though this is impossible!

- sorry this poem doesn't

rhyme.

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I am highly critical of my

poetry, I don't think I should

entertain trying to write it.

All in all I think it's rubbish,

total shit!

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He works in retail, stacks

the shelves, gives customer

support, man's the tills, over

a tannoy reports.

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That itch on my back i

can never scratch, that

pain when I stub my toe,

that runny nose that never

stops, are all annoying things

that happen to me regularly, they

never go.

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She knows I love her,

but she is content with her man.

I know I have no chance at

winning her hand, understand

that I am barking up the wrong

tree if I think I can have her all

to myself.

Am I stupid, am I daft to keep

clinging on to the chance that

she might one day walk up my path?

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I fly business class in my dreams

economy class, it seems, is below me.

In reality I fly economy class only.

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I am in love with her grin,

as it appears dimples form

on her cheeks.

Her smile makes me go

weak at the knees, and in

a while I am smiling back

at her, grinning like a

Cheshire cat so to speak.

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The hour is late

My eyes can't wait

To close

Most of my clothes

I will remove before

I climb into bed

Soon I will be soothed

By soft cotton touching

My torso my legs

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My face turns red when

I've drunk too much wine,

when I'm embarrassed,

and when the weather is

cold, which in England is

most of the time.

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The old mill in my village

is redundant. It's wheel

is still, no longer does it

turn the cogs that milled

the corn the wheat the

barley.

It's sad to see no life in

the old girl!

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Whatever will we do if plastic straws are banned? Might we drink our favorite coke from the container instead?, we already drink it this way from the can.

[poetsrest-blog]

I don't go to the gym

perhaps that's why I'm

not slim?

Or perhaps it's because

I eat a pound of chocolate

a day?

Anyways I'm happy being

fat not thin.