Thirty. stolen.


All I Really Need

Just clean underwear,
three inches of whiskey and
half your attention

typingexplosion

x

Hey, Vir:

You try to emulate the classical
romantics and wits of what you wish
you'd been - born a century or so
too late - and fall instead just short of poise,
landing instead somewhere between trite
and true. Still, in that pretty head
there's promise, and an interest bolstered
by real talent. How's your Latin? Try
shedding the rhyme scheme for a while; see
what it might be like to call me something
other than Thee. I know it was the moon
brought you to me, in circumstances true
to form and just your kind of thing - listen:
quick but kind does fellow poet sing.