The Cliche Poet

Speaks in riddles
Soft and young
Who hands a candle
To his so short tongue…

With taste of de
hyrdration
and battle rum

is he really
going to sip me?

Whiskey whiskey
On my “blonde” south!
Give him a new riddle
And out of my mouth!

I can’t!
I can’t
My seaman are lost!

Why were they abadoned
On this vessel
So barely there in the mist!

The rhyme the rhythm!
What about time!

Forgive me
fogrive me!

But am I forgiven…

About Stefani Germanotta

I like to write with a man named Michael because he is my muse.
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