One of those weeks when you have nothing to post and you pull up facebook posts from the previous week. Here, some semblance of a poem(s) I wrote over three days last week about my newly found pass time.
I see you, I have been for a while.
Noticing you noticing me.
I’ve evaded you for years,
but you haven’t stopped prowling for me.
We had an encounter early last week,
it was brief but you left your mark.
We crossed paths again later in the week,
we flirted a little before I snubbed you.
You were cool,
because you knew something I didn’t.
Something I only noticed in the bar last night.
I remember the way you were leering at me.
From the dark corner where you sat.
You had this familiar look.
One that seemed to mutter;
“you can run, you can hide, but you’re hooked to this shit.”
See, you’re bad company. You know you are.
You have your perks, no doubt about that.
But you have a penchant for groping for the vile in me.
And you always find it.
It’s the reason we failed to work three years ago,
when we first met.
That plus your high-maintenance status.
I kept my distance, you didn’t cling either,
but you’ve always lurked in a distance.
We keep meeting under unavoidable circumstances,
you wink at me, I smile back.
You’ve been at this for a while, trying to coax me back.
You see me and you nudge for my attention.
Doing that feat you do with your lustrous little lips,
as if to remind me of what I am missing.
I know I should keep away from you,
and the places I am likely to meet you.
But a part of me wants to get back with you,
A decision I’ll most definitely regret.
Because far from your naughty self,
Is the only safe place I can be.
The sun slips into a slumber
nightfall saunters in somber
where thou at
my brown skinned girl
I call out.
Bring thine naughty ass hither
you daughter of the of the moon
My wallet is merry
just as you like it
I am up for mischief tonight
and you’re all the company I need.
Come here you nemesis of mine
lets do the tango like we once did
then I’ll suck on your succulent lips
and drink of your venomous nectar
have the time of my life generally
before I wince and whine tomorrow
as I write about the wicked things you did to me last night.