How does a garden grow,

if we don’t plant a seed?
Where did the people go?
What? It’s people we need?
Life’s not a mystery
Just a bad movie.
Love is an after-thought
Love is a paradox
Love is cynical
a funeral
Love is our paradise
It was that pair of dice
and a need in me
Love was my candidate
Love is a candy bar
Love was divorce prelude
and a few Quaaludes
Love is a horse’s eyes
Love is sexual (baby)
I was passionate (kiss kiss)
it is controlling me
Love is the quality
Love is a motel room
a mmm mmm mother’s breast
it was the rings I bought
Love was attention sought
Love is erection
Love sans detection
is critical
once was a TV Guide
Love sucked off my pride
Love is compulsiveness
Love is hot fudge
it is heart-lost and coronary
Love’s not a mystery
just a bad movie.
deeply huffing these fingers
Love ain’t automatic.

About memoirpoet

I've been faking it as a writer for more than 30 years. Keep that low.
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3 Responses to Love

  1. jalal michael sabbagh. says:

    Thank you indeed for following my blog.My best regards.jalal

  2. jalal michael sabbagh. says:

    Absolutely wonderful.Jalal

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