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By: Espressoyourself

Page 1, Ch\'Ching Weekend Fling




Feel the rumble, so humble

In my floppy toque. Puppies

Peek-a-boo from black sacks

And I can't eat the snacks

On this one o clock cloud ride.


Cinnamon and honey, don't

Have the money to buy jeans

That fit- funeral for a snowman

And holes in my mitts.

And I lit candles last night

Power went out and I called

You in the dark. Empty line.


Empty lines fill the spaces

In me- airport free and wish I

Could be under plush covers

With you- had the flu last week;

So weak in bed as I mended;

Pretended someone was making

Liptons in the other room.


Touchdown soon before the moon

Rises and the sky loonie cashes

Away- leaving the grey and into

Cold blue. I'm bold, it's true but

Flash me a smile and I'll tremble

For you.


Empty lines run the races where

Coconut trees sway and drop

Their fruit and their faces

Toot of a tricycle horn

As the rules are torn and we

Grow as weeds on borrowed ground


Found a pattern last week and sewed

Wings on my arms-lucky charms

In the mucky snow Wednesday

Blowing bubbles in my tea as I

Pondered your lips on the nape of

My neck.   

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