I softly whistle a sweet love tune
the beat gently, reminds me of you...
Words, one's defender
yet tends to blunder...
This is more of a song, not a regular poem.
Dreams are never meant to be...
I'm doubtful. I don't know what to write. I don't...
[What how when where why...
She held the puppy,
lulling her with tears...
There are moments where finding your escape...
or in a sound. There are places that free us from...
Woe trickles down the nape
of my neck and into sleeves...
A delicate rose
collecting dust...
My generally dormant mind wanders;
Traveling to places so divine...
The billabong booms with the kind of
blokes and bush rangers that rest bundy...
I've avoided the passage that led to your dwelling...
but fingerprinted walls and canvasses of your face...
You are
sweaty palms to face, clogged pores...