An Aspect

Every extremely personal lingo
adolescent in depth and tempo
is linked by long tendons
and an artery of silk
to the womb of all delicate
blood-fed heresies.

Who is it who desperately needs
to be the one who festively feeds
an appetite for choking
with speed-aged cookies
hush my sunny delicacy
hush my bonnie heresy.

Never have I said thank you
no reason, since no becauses
can underlie your thundering
whispering of hinted pauses.

Topped off with oxygen and carbon
she is blasting into home and orbit
too fast for chastity with
more clothing than curiosity
quiet my trifling delicacy
listen my highstrung heresy.

Do not let me turn into
someone no one can love
or speak to without being stern
from below or from above.

Zipped up boots tall as elevators
a rapt look in blue black oculars
chic pandemoneum
opposite of sentiment
unleashed my honest delicacy
unhinged my honest poesy.

The one I call she
in my boyish dialect
is only one of many
of my feminine aspects.

We cart down streets teetering threatening
to fall over under loud height and weight
look at her and smile
appreciate my guile
strut my inappropriate poodle
give the world melodious hope.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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2 Responses to An Aspect

  1. jameskolt85 says:

    I like your poem! I write a lot of similar stuff you should check out my blog

    • mrsorenson says:

      Thanks James. I read through a lot of your poems, enjoying the feelings of them. They remind me of my youth, full of sentiment and toying with experience in units of moment and hungry reaction. Nice photo – where? I would guess Penn or Mo.

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