Flawless pools of lotion with a proof twenty-three,

Make no impact when applied on skin that’s exposed:

It invites freckled stains on face, belly, and knees;

And bleaches the peach fuzz that tickles arms and toes.

A sparkling-new tee-shirt, colorless and clever

When hit with a shaft of light, is most likely bound

To define hints of dirt and unclean whatevers,

That compliment sticky secrets lurking around.

Like an exploding sneeze from distant clouds above,

Fate creates disasters out of chocolate-box plans;

Until there’s no more polished moments to dream of,

Nothing left worth saving in the palm of your hand.

Stars will have no purpose, your hopes will have no point.

And every rhymed verse will disappointedly break.

Copyright © 2009 N.E. Tasker

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 4th, 2009 at 6:00 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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