If I had that magical touch
I would have changed you into a poem
Just to let my lips keep you as my spoken word
My words are getting mixed up to an extend
I get an arousal that is mystically creeping inside me
Rendering me gullible to the beat and tune of your beauty
Not even my fifty note can afford to coin in my heart.
I wrote your name in the middle of my diary
I can stand perjury before the jury just to keep you
Many a men have told you words that can build a castle
mid-air
On my chair I pen down feeble lines that will make your
heart wobble
Trouble in you I might lodge for my words will make any man
slit my throat
Double shots of whiskey I resolve to just because my words
cannot change who you are.
She, she makes me sing the song of deliverance
Yet I just knew the other day
When she is offline am on line with my boys
When she is online am there checking her state of us
Her profile is always on check for she completes the
balance
I never take chances but this open chance to enlighten her
heart I won’t risk.
I never go through my words but now am going through her
words
The last word I am ready to give up is change
The word my heart bleeds for is revolution
I know love should have been the word
But, I will rather cherish Irish-potatoes
in form of
French-fries in Kenyan-streets
By Marc-the-poet
By Marc-the-poet
nice work
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