Please don’t tickle that, I’m standing on it.
There’s more to me than land between leaps.
Next time, I’ll dress before you climb my leg.
I’m sure my best trousers had fewer holes.
How can you sleep there, one roll, two stories from stone?
Please do not claw me there; I might want children.
I got you down that tree, why rush back up?
arts & ego
poem photo music blog
content product
year title samples
hear
this archive is hosted by arts & ego © 1978–2024 dylan harris. some rights reserved.