deepundergroundpoetry.com
Jack of All
He stood in the front
Barrel under toes
Paint on his face
A magician I suppose
My blue dress wept
slapping the ground
A feathering neck
Minding small mounds
Our eyes locked
Before his slipped
under my arms
small wings clipped
My ominous lover
Pain staken wretch
For he was the she
I had met on the bench
Barrel under toes
Paint on his face
A magician I suppose
My blue dress wept
slapping the ground
A feathering neck
Minding small mounds
Our eyes locked
Before his slipped
under my arms
small wings clipped
My ominous lover
Pain staken wretch
For he was the she
I had met on the bench
Published 5th Aug 2011
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