A bed of starved and thrice killed porcupines
Smells less rancorous than your body scent,
On curdled milk and moldy cheese I'd pine
'fore I tasted your lips, so "heaven" sent
A bouquet of dying roses, all black
Is more pleasing than any look of you
Yon voice grates cheese until voice grows slack
Silence whole an unspoken blessing too.
Your touch, eugh, I saved for last a'purpose
For it is the most vile punishment
Known to any man or country circus
Twill make a man beg for a banishment
And still, despite this all so dreadf'ly true
No truer words are spoke than "I love you"
Author notes
A little humorous, I hope :-)
A contest entry
- Let your pen run free! by silverscent.
450 points, ended August 5, 2007, 21 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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It was going so well until the most cliche three words appeared right at the end. But surely a love poem isn't a love poem without "I love you," or is it?
I loved the originality and wit until the last line. Thanks for entering. -
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It's a fair question to ask, and one I can't answer! I'm not sure how else I could have ended it.
Thanks for the inspiration.
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