Tuesday, April 7, 2015

After the tickles, ask about love

Taunting the words out of me is easy
just tickle my edges, a little on the waist
more under the arm and I shrill with the touch
of my legs. I have always been sensitive to theft
as I have been with attempted laughter
like wrapping made to fit the situation
stop running your hands into the curve of my fine lines
just above the fat storage unit, just bellow my midnight thoughts

you hit me with questions of abstracts
things I understood at thirteen and let go of at thirty
there are wider oceans than humans have found,
yes, there's an end to sadness and no, I don't have the questions
I think that the rest of the world would wait
till I formulate my answer

Enough with this going about, once pestering
and then jesting, I will spill out the beans
each for a certain day-
starting now I will assure you when you
ask about love, it is not gone
but  I have told you once
that a child has no power to hate
only to wreck a little, for creativity's sake.

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