She said, "Like..."
and he said, "Like..."
and they understood each other,
as a perfect mirror, a simile.
Like a flower in spring,
she bloomed in his thing,
as he wandered without fear,
his cell like an ear,
through the fever of familiarity.
Tongue stud like a rock,
belly bling like a frock,
to her midriff like a bare,
like nowhere, her hair,
through the aisles of her unsubtlety.
Trousers hung low,
like with nowhere to go,
grabbing his crotch compulsively.
Like an underwear show,
He was, like a nice little homily.
It was, "Like this," and, "Like that."
Like in a perpetual rap trap,
that their hearts entwined like harmony.
Two souls, "like in love,"
begin and end, with a simile.
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2005 © Ronald W. Hull
6/5/05
