He sips his 11 PM tea,
while I sip kisses off my new man's lips.
No terror in my heart,
no agonizing guilt.
I verse at him
like metaphors shading full moon.
Writing about men I borrow sometimes,
he knew he was my temporary muse.
I adored his touch more than the man back home.
amiable how he goes and goes.
He was my travel destination,
I'd get over writer's block off his moans.
He was nothing like my guy,
nothing like his erotic midnight.
My man was made up of tea sips,
and he was the man of nictone and lies.
I didn't miss my love at all,
But something about those two men in my mind,
Something so beautiful to have both of them.
Something about tea and cigarettes together tonight.
I spill few words tonight,
Few words about my new bed,
'Don't you burn like a cigarette,
I've got no tea made.'
YOU ARE READING
Ruined By Emotions
PoetryMesmerizing your words were, Sir, your alluring face, I remember your black jacket, red rose and that slow pace.
