Triple the Nonsense

Steven Jacob Borthick
When the felt-tip gorilla in the pansy tide,
Grabs your hand splitting a ride,
You have one option to forgive,
Like a far-fetched staple wanting to live.

You turn and you moan on that summer door,
Until you arrive one tongue too poor,
The bumble bee is what a tack will be,
The fountain is the sea.

What will arrive in a laden of red,
When the cat's flown all that it's said,
For be aware of that ticket you loop,
I am a hula hoop.

Published by Steven Jacob Borthick

I'm 21 and I'm happy being me.   View profile

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