Marceline White
I love the lost boys
The creative geniuses
In the stovepipe jeans
With the raw, hungry look.
The bright boys with
Big words and ideas
Who philosophize
Make me swoony.
I drink their words, ideas in like
Some love-lush; some word whore.
I throw myself into them
A project that I never tire of..
Filling their great need
With all of myself
Until I sit in the pocket
Of their stovepipe jeans
A torn, frayed remnant
Chanting “Love me, love
Me” in morse code
While they sit
Smoking cloves and
Reading Sartre.
© Marceline White
|