Thursday, July 19, 2007

A Poem?

STRANGE

At his touch, I loosen.
At his caress, I melt.
As the lone finger
Finds me and knows me,
I loss.
But at insertion …
SHIT! This is rubbish.
He’s failed.

(c) UZEZI EKERE. 8th DECEMBER. 2002.

2 comments:

  1. Hi

    They say Art is open to interpretations but i think there's only one meaning to this, hoping everyone else has a one track mind as mine. Very nice one, a fresh aproach to the dealing with the one minute phenomenon.

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  2. sprezatura, hope everyone else do not have a one track mind like yours.

    ReplyDelete