Of words

My text is yet to form I’ll warm my feet
The core of who I be I’m yet to know
I’ll have another coffee then I’ll go
To see a friend indeed and take a heed

Of written word to speak and spell the flow
Am smitten with the beat my company
Of brittle lines I spy another seed
To grow up late to need another go

A treat to be the man who needs to dream
I see I’ll dream a vision quite serene
And greed is dead to bleed into a tone
Forgotten and replayed unto a groan

Of touch and not of hatred that we feel
The clutch is hot I’ll get behind the wheel


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