Lemonade

sometimes
a little too much lemon
in the water
sours
the taste

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Disillusion

from ankle to hair
i traced her lines
slender and full
i traversed the plains
of her snug waist
and climbed the slopes
of her shapely breasts
paused a moment there
to gaze northward
into dark, gleaming eyes

then she lifted her hand
yellowing fingers enveloped
in a cloud of chemicals
polluting the air
and inhaled deeply
death of my dreams

The Evolutionary Peculiarities of Poets

oddities
weird in ways
beyond understanding, sometimes
other times, familiar
glimpses of each other
in each other’s words
still
unique
unique oddities
writing their own
bags of tricks
in a magic show
as old as cave paintings
visual poems
describing unintelligible
grunts and gestures

ah, poets
we’ve not changed much
over time
still grunting and gesturing
to make sense of the world
and our places in it

*For the Daily Post prompt, peculiar