PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Tilted umbrellas along a line of picnic tables. 

Each word that comes from my mind,

Is a line you, or me, or he said

Under covers, breathing each other's air,

As my genitalia throbbed to be next to the

he or me or we 

That said the words that I hear,

Staring alone along that line of tilted umbrellas. 

Sigh deep to keep the fluids in,

My eyes leak, my thighs ooze, slick, my pipes, literally at my house, seep. 

It’s a sieve, in my life right now,

Draining soul and sustenance from sinks, drains, showers, and

from between my thighs, out of my eyes, out of a burnt heart-

To burn the freakin' tilt out of those umbrellas.