By stbrians | Churning Poetry | 7 Dec 2022
Come, baby, come! !
Sit here on my lap.
Whisper nothingness in my ear.
Peck me on the cheek.
Come, baby, come!
Come, baby, come!
Let me feel your softness.
Let me touch your softies.
Talk to me, cuddle me.
Come, baby, come!
Come, baby, come!
We walk hand in hand.
We walk in purple rain.
Finally we walk down the aisle.
Come, baby, come!
Then tables turn round.
No longer need you on my lap.
Your cuddles no longer needed.
You, a tool to make babies.
Come, baby, come!
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Poetry is the spice of the soul. A poet is an emotional person. He creates love, hate, worry etc. A poet is a mind reader. He knows your thoughts.
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