Classic poem of the day
That Sunday was like an unfinished dream.
I've never been able to get it out of my mind.
You looked like Mary Magdalen
And I wanted to wash your feet.
The more I looked into your eyes
The stronger the pain.
Your thin body and small waist
Were all I wanted to possess
But a shadow hovering in our midst
Prevented a possible communion.
Member poem of the day
Dream of smooth craft dulcet verse as is my wont,
but such folly bears barred grid smirk,
profound perfume of, meandering willingness an adventuress wayfarer,
immerse yourself in velvet vales extant when presenting oneself,
idle musing is a feeble pursuit not rectifiable nor fruitful either,
the pursuit of wobbly craft as of popular endorsement disregard,
tap alternatively into the zestfulness of silken sibilant surround,
...
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