Lips

When I Feel Lonely
I'M Driven To That Pair
Of Pettaled Lips Where
I Get My Honey Of Life.
In The Dreariness Of Life, A
Seamier Side Very Much
Wearing A Semblance Of A
Living Death,
The Two, A Boon To Me,
Becomes Dovels In An
Otherwise Holed Life.
When Life Nursed On Hopes
Flounders No Ends In The
Sea Of Loneliness.
The Lips Sometimes Open
Like A Chute Walking Me
To Safety,
And At Times A Proverbial
Straw Foisting Me On The Shore.