Close calls and near misses,

Is it really worth it for drunken kisses?

No, that’s just letting off steam, like when a kettle hisses, 

It’s the soul kisses that leave your brain in eclipses.

 

Remaniises, of what was once tender, 

Maybe it’s better to be drunk, so your mind doesn’t render

This kiss important, gets scrambled in the mental blender

So you can lie about it, like saying Jesus was born in December.

 

September to January was tough,

It was about then I started poetry, off the cuff,

I was a pretender until life called my bluff,

So I tried to write stuff and become verbally tough.

 

A scruff, but found some kind of voice,

I raised it, like a democrat, to promote freedom of choice,

As a banner, like a pirate flag that I hoist,

Break mansion gates, and spit on a Rolls-Royce!  

 

Moist kisses, could lead to leaving you in stitches,

Cos it’s 4 am and I’d take you or any of your cackle of witches

But I’m not a misogynist, and I won’t call you all bitches,

I’m romantic, honest, I’ll take you to the pictures!

 

Wishes silent, that you could have her face,

Or I could douse my brain in rum until my personality is erased, 

So I could like you for you, rather than a blank manikin to replace

My newly vacant head space, and warm my bed’s cold embrace.

 

Disgraced, when I talk in monologue that’s over dramatic,

I’m a novice, still practicing my verbal backflip,

But when I square root it, multiply and subtract it,

All I wanted to say was that the girl sat opposite me was attractive.