Smothered

Ærchie complained bitterly:

I’m lonely, and sad and bereft
Deserted by muses who left.
I now cannot write
With scansion thats tight
And thoughts of a bosomly cleft.

Michelle offering comfort, wrote:

Oh Ærchie come here now come here
You may weep in my bosoms my dear
You are no longer bereft
Of a bosomly cleft
In my bosoms you will just disappear!

Ærchie replied, with deep appreciation:

Michelle you’re a sight for sore eyes
Your bosoms eliciting sighs
But please do not heave
I DO like to breathe
And utter appreciative cries

Ærchie

As I heavily breathe in and out
I see your arms a-flailing about
I take a deep breath
And you are near death
If you’re drowning then PLEASE give a shout!!!

Michelle

I love being mothered and covered
in bosoms that likely have smothered
my brothers, step-brothers
half-brothers and others
whose sources are still undiscovered

Ærchie – getting my breath back

a.j.l. may 24 2000

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