A Poor Boy In Love

 A Poor Boy In Love

 

With the neb of my pocket

Broken,

I cannot but help to think

Of ways  I can push you into

The pond of my words,

 

So you can have a blade taste

Of my salty desires

That cut like crocodile on a

Blunt tongue,

 

So that you can also understand

The plight of a gilless fish;

The one you expect oceanic

Treats from.

 

You say I stink like the intellect of

A poor man,

Can you not but manage the

Fragrance of my promising touch?

 

You say my dreams are like the

Giant nightmares of a dwarf,

And that you detest looking at

The wake of my snoring face.

 

Do not make the mistake of

Using the jury of to-day in judging

The morrow of a working man,

Love me from within;

My mouse will someday feed

Your pack.

 

Etim Emmanuel Uwe