(Stan Holiday and The Sunshine Six possible)
Your hands are my hands
And my hands are on
The frame of the portrait
That watched over you during Sunday dinners
I saw it first! I saw it first! I saw it first!
It's coming with me.
You'll thank me when we meet again
But (for now) your hands are my hands
And my hands are full
MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!
MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!
(What's) YOURS! YOURS! YOURS! YOURS!
(is)MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!
She looks disappointed.
I just love the (look of) judgement (on her face)
When she stares at me.
Bonus post:
Sometimes I Wonder How I Stay So Strong
I think I get a lot of heartburn as a sign of some sort.
Maybe it's about my poor eating habits.
But the beaten artist in me thinks
It's my heart rolling in kerosene,
and lighting a cigarette,
(every hour or so.)
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1 comment:
I didn't really get what you were trying to say in the first poem...
The second was interesting, I think it could have been continued, or maybe developed into a story. I'm not sure how exactly I feel about it...
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