Thursday, September 13, 2012

Dream Girl

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.



moonlite:D said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
moonlite:D said...

Lover boy,
this poem oozes so much romanticism..

brought a bigg grin on my face..

absolute love for this one:)

nanda said...


thank you moonlite:D

Eric Stalker said...

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