Poems about sense

I shocked Spock.

I mistook a gat for a bock
And retook the hook.

I pulsed the bastard deadly.
I decided above bedlam
That cans of Pabst bespoke.

Shackles and sandals.
Bespeckled stetsons.
Freckles in finland.

Shit frack cunt sucked.
A melody cumming swimmingly.

Backhoe.
Feckless.
Wired.

I don't need to open up,
My vent is cool enough.

I sense something off.
A partical of a strand to the millionth degree.
Some sence is not making sense.
If i feel with my heart
If i see with my eyes
If i feel with my touch
If i hear with my ears
If i taste with my tounge...
Yes, let me taste with my tounge.
Let me feel the vibrations of your heartbeat so rhythmatically in tune with mine.
Let us paint this white flag red
With all our love and bloodshed.
Let me sense your sences until yours is mine and mine is yours.
Until two hearts beat as one
Until the swagger of our hips collide
Because yes, making sense is what we do best when it comes to our sences.

The rain
Will never sound the same
As it did in the summer
When all we did was
Stay in late together
And imagine what life would be like
If we could just lay and create
Our own soundtrack
To the rhythm of the rain
And speak to each other
In silence.

Lay with me,
Between the sand
And the sea

Weave my hair
Between your fingers,
In time to the wind

Kiss me, as if Monday's
Don't exist

And we will make sense of
This senselessness

Someone left the gate open
I didn't even try to walk through
No one attempts to understand me
That's why I don't like any of you
I'll read my writes & you'll listen
But I know it's only so you can talk
I'll write out things about me,
But they might as well be chalk
Clap clap clap
Clap my dusty words out of your erasers
Clear the air so that you can fill it
With your proverbs, your opnions
You really only care about the importance of your bit
And I don't mind
It happens all the time

A dirty pond interrupts our conversation,
That simply isn't what I wanted.
You need to listen to us loud and clear,
We want you out of here.
Oh? You want me to leave? Perhaps we can strike a deal.
Yeah, Perhaps we can.
If you let me join in on the conversation,
I will have you praised by the greats.
Oh, God, no.

You are my coffee
Bitter at first
But then I sink in
And let you fill me with energy
With your smile
And your hair
And your lips
And your whole existence
Why do the simplest things make me happy?
Well, you see, it's not so simple
When you're losing track of reality
And you're wasting your time
Thinking that he,
Of all people,
Would find me lovely
And wonderful
And beautiful
When he won't even bother to wave