Sos

Poem By Adeyemi Joshua

Do not fall in love with a poet:
Breakfast would be a couplet.

Lunch would bea quatrain:
Personified, pithy and prolix on metaphoric train.

Supper would be a sonnet:
Smithereens of oomphs, entangled in esurience'senmesh.

On the spousal sunshine,
He would sew suit of slant rhymes.

For how long he would last inbassinet:
Measured in Troche, dactyl, anaspetic or iambic pentameter.

Advice for the shavers and doxy:
Lofty metaphors Clothed in paradoxical antithesis.


Talk more of many other things,
Your home is hyperbole of poetry.
19: 05: 05: 13: 51

Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral piece. SOS

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