If I loved you yesterday, and still loved you tomorrow, does it mean I time travel?
I’m standing, steadily stepping, I’m starting to starve, is my stanza stylish?
Broken mirrors, flipped mattresses, snotty nose, and puke.
My diction is deeper, during my drafting, I drown in my dictionary.
My page itches, I scratch it with a pen, my creativity aroused, my pen gets an orgasm.
Infinite ink, incense inspires interest in my intellect.
My pen is a tap that forever waters my pages, hoping the seed will grow.
My golden lady, lifted and landed, learn and listen, luminous, you are my light.
Is that suicide note, the right words you wanted to say to your crush, but choked.
The hurt, the hate, my heart had holes, hungover from Hennessey.
I’m falling from your charm, can we make love today in case tomorrow never cum.
So confusing, contagious, contaminated by your kisses.
I shall cherish every moment, for you are the poem in every syllable of my writings.
I caught feelings, felt fire, your physique is phenomenal.
What if my present is way past your future?
She’s a song unsung, I was sinking in sorrow, sitting in sadness, I’m glad I met you.
Is unwritten, my verse is real, my verse is deep, the relationship between death and sleep.
She’s my reflection, romance after rejection.
Your eyes are the windows to the soul, I shall whisper every sweet nothing I’ve ever known.
Sweet centre, cinnamon, sincerely scripted by signature.
Even though there is no guarantee, I would still give you all of me.
Panado partially puts pain on pause.
I shall take the pen and bleed, I shall stay rooted and give you a seed.
You are like a building, and I accept your every flaw, take me I’m yours.
All Rights Reserved Zeblon Thwala © 2016