Plight of a poetess…


In the late hours of night,

thinking of you,

I get a high,

I close my eyes and take a deep sigh.

Writing with a blunt pencil,

words are flowing fast,

I try to imagine you,

having that whiskey, last.

With those drooping eyes

you again confess your love,

call me honey, baby and dove.

I laugh at myself

for having a male muse,

But, what can a poetess in love do,

other than confuse and amuse?

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Plight of a poetess…

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s