Your Potion

Prone to your potion
I pour one downtown.
Ride the avenue blue
lights hear no sound.

So I drive this side of
an ego fit for a king.
Yet my all my hope all
heart hangs by string.

I computate to debate
at altitudes above us.
I figure a fight we’ll
see shows us I must.

From battle comatose,
in effective ways no
king but a jester I’m
a sore fester to bone.

Shall I come with you
my sweet caress me.
Bled empathy so I think
you must be complete.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s