Poetry

Dew

To the delight of mowing cows and bleating goats
But to the chagrin of the old school herdsman
Or the kid caned for soiled shoes
On a Monday morning
Till it rides the rising motes
Till it runs and hides
From the heat of the sun
So it can rest for the day
Till mother nature cries again

the drug and I

the drug and I had goose bumps and pimples
as I lay there head spinning like a spin the wheel
and salivating at the sharp shadows of the nipples
as she danced and I was ready to kneel
we pumped each other, the drug and I

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