It was the stubble
That was the hurdle.
Time was running out,
He had to get out.
A quick shave in haste,
With this and that paste,
Gets his cheek to shine,
It was well past nine.
Last flick to his hair,
Makes sure of his flair,
A slap of perfume,
He felt armed with plume.
To impress, he climbed
Into bed, wide eyed,
For it was the night,
His dream girl, come might.
:D
5 comments:
Lover boy,
this poem oozes so much romanticism..
brought a bigg grin on my face..
absolute love for this one:)
:)
thank you moonlite:D
Hello, your poem is really cute. I love to read poem blog while drinking coffee in my favourite Moscow mule cups. Reading blog is one of my hobbies. I feel fresh after reading blogs. Thanks for sharing.
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