Words without ideas
Words without love
Ideas without love, without words
Mute
Brute
Scoot
Shoot
Thoughts without thinking
Thoughts without drinking
Thinking without drinking, without thought
Dupe
Sloop
Troop
Stoop
Sight without seeing
Sight without being
Seeing without being, without sight
Blind
Mind
Find
Behind
Low blow the high flow
Trip the tease that strips to please
Low flow the high blow
Waters edge the bather’s pledge
Strip to please the tease that trips
Waters pledge, the bather’s edge
Low flow the high blow
I’d forgot to grieve
Got up to leave
A mumbling stumbling goodbye
I’d not taken the time to cry
Too too busy not asking why
Caught up in my own insensitivity
Reading some other folks words
Looking at nature, studying birds
Wallowing in the following wind
Now it’s time to come to terms
Wash those wicked feelings, terminate the germs
Wish you all the best, with sincerity
I’m in the country and visiting the city
Writing and reading, words full of self-pity
Drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes
The world has become my oyster
That’s a tricky one, choices can loiter and be foisted
So I’ll catch their word, hoping that’s not too absurd
You thought your way into my thoughts
And you fought your way right out again
It was your thinking not your drinking
That propped me, stopped me from sinking
Your critical, cryptic crossword completion
Revealed, your subtle sense of reason
And your letters, your letters though sparse and thin
Your written words sold me, fever rising, muse within
Your turn of phrase with unnerving staring gaze
Razor sharp, cutting; may I mention tension raised
The gifts you gathered, the detail mattered
Thoughtful choices, so so soft yet carefully scattered
Even now on leaving
Misbelieving there’s no articulated deceiving
Your thoughts I’m holding high
In my sinking, slinking, thinking
The steam room and the sauna
They are my racetrack, my sweet fleeting fauna
The swimming pool and the meditation star
They are my cigarette, my whisky, my pimp, my bar
Now this simple phraseology, this word psychology
This is my style, not yours, for that I make no apology
The tidy quiet room; laid back jazz and soulful blues
This is my non-hovel, I have no desire to grovel
Yet I read your works and marvel at your creation
Your escapades; words, to which I bear no relation
But just to put your mind at rest, in you I did invest
In the Jacuzzi; the plumes sure do dress the nest
The volva, the vulva caressed by volcanic water vests
Tattoos on thighs open your eyes, stir feelings blest
And there are girls there with their mothers
And ladies going on girls, there with their lovers
The lecher stretching don’t take much fetching
When there’s so much skin, skin waving, shaving skin
For inspiration and amusement, when in lent
The spa’s the place to rent
