| bill in my bonnet
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jenakajoffer
| the tables turned downunda, | 1 |
my fresh-food poodle, numb at the bottom | 2 |
of the whiskey glass– | 3 |
how was i supposed to love you? | 4 |
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i left separation for the eggs; | 5 |
mine were still coddled | 6 |
but the bucket broke long ago– | 7 |
that was your cue. | 8 |
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i cleaned you, yes, by the reservoir | 9 |
in a basket weaved, | 10 |
my lips pulled into apology | 11 |
and your locks curled like a fiddlehead. | 12 |
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there was an awful draft in the north | 13 |
after washing down the cow | 14 |
and you wilted like a lettuce; | 15 |
your shrivel hung loosely over my tits, | 16 |
my thighs slung around your waist | 17 |
like a boomerang. | 18 |
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you gathered all my lipsticks | 19 |
and painted hell on your chest– | 20 |
i couldn't tell if you were erogenous | 21 |
or just sick– | 22 |
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but what you did to me | 23 |
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straddled, | 24 |
a flag tied to my bloodface, | 25 |
piano legs dangling from your sick-knot | 26 |
as you dunked your junk in my disease. | 27 |
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i still want you to cross the equator, | 28 |
but i'll smash your monday face | 29 |
every time you let your gourd down, | 30 |
and you know, | 31 |
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i could spend every bleak winter | 32 |
eroding my fist in your asshole. | 33 |
but | 34 |
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it fucking hurts, | 35 |
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right? | 36 |
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18 Oct 12 |
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Comments:
it is divine.
there ain't an image nor a silk rope that you can't help but tie me down with. or too. our hurts to smile with you ripping out the braces that keeps my brain from belting itself to a pony. or something
— DeformedLion
have to do this of f my phone. ugh. so annoyingjoy
— DeformedLion
Oh sullen to be in wait for your homing.
I know how you loathe phone poeming so I am feeling delicious that you took the time to read my little honeybee even though you we're on the shitter.
Best time really.
So glad you feel such divinity. I actually worked on this, I cared for it tenderly, like a bebe.
Like you.
— jenakajoffer
Perhaps its just me, but reading this made me feel like I just got a rim'job from someone with a 9" tongue. Perhaps too much innuendo for me. Moments were good, but too many layers. Overload. Sometimes it's better just to bang the drum, instead of beating around it?
— OldShoe
the poem reminds of being led around by the hand by a child who is excited to show you things:
"...and this is my dog rover, and here is my bedroom, and this is my swingset, and that's my pet rock, and here is my bike, and that's my younger brother but we don't have time to talk to him, and here is my doll collection, and the jigsaw puzzle i finished yesterday..."
without ever pausing long enough to allow anything to sink in, be enjoyed.
every tree is beautiful, but they are planted so densely as to make the forest become lost.
— unknown
thanks unk, maybe next time you take a walk in my forest you bring compass.
yeah, brain, i get you,
i know all the fat places but i think he likes my deep throat and i ain't ready to diet.
;)
— jenakajoffer
thanks unk, maybe next time you take walk in my forest you bring compass.
yeah, brain, i get you,
i know all the fat places but i think he likes my deep throat and i ain't ready to diet.
;)
— jenakajoffer
Yeah, I love your 'bill' poems. No crit, I'm not worthy. :) 39 is sublime
— sybarite
thanks sybie :)
well, if i read this outside of myself, i immediately know where i would cut this poem. so i'm going to cut them out, and paste the poem underneath the original. if anyone reads this again, i'd like to know what you think.
— jenakajoffer
oh my gawd what is this....linus what kind of deranged is our love?
you own me big time, sloth.
— jenakajoffer
excellent as ever
— rivergood
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