Quickly quickly turn around
Quickly quickly touch the ground.

Swiftly swifly hit your head,
Swiftly swiftly go to bed.

Silently silently shed your clothes,
Silently silently stifle your moans.

A thousand hands groping air,
Looking for that little fairy, that
Pentultimate symbol of innocence,
Of hope of peace and of light,
That left us sometime last year.

With ten thousand closed kisses with open eyes
ten thousand couples part.

(Don't judge a poet on one poem)
{Why not? Is it not his latest work that defines his work?}
(Ah dammit...but my other stuff was so much for figurative. Now I'm having a bitch in prose form about the poem I'm currently trying to write.)
{My word!}
(MySpace!)

This lonely star, this oh so lonely star...
It just watches us fade away before it does...