2018

Project 259

The hour is nigh.
The cuckoo jumps out
From a wooden clock, and makes merry. 
I too jump out of bed, hoping
That this year, would be a little cuckoo,
Madder than I ever imagine,
Like that toy wound in the back,
That goes speeding on
The polished floor, or maybe a hummingbird
Whose wing-speed catches
Me off guard, and I hope to god,
The nectar I sip, just like a glass of rum and coke,
Will make me inebriated
Of that one flower I wake up to, at dawn,
Whose lips decant the nectar,
Of an unseasonal love.

Categories: Tags: , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s