Journey's profile

Tom always was down for some more Whether two-eyed with scabies or four He ran out of luck And lost all his pluck When his yee-haw fell on the floor

Buff Frannie, she worked out at Balley’s Kept no count of masculine dallies She finally fell hard For a thong leotard Now rather than Franks, she digs Sallys

And she sways in the room to the sighs of the blues where the bug eyed crawfish boil to the cadence of slow ceiling fan's spin, the tempo's only spoil. The squat, iron kettle black as her eyes whistles of her praises. Aged bosom heaving, she stirs savory rue and cooking fire blazes. Through all of the years, she's made this meal while crazy fireflies dance to celebrate life and love in cornfields when all that love was, was chance. Through stick propped window rain tiptoes in to moisten the s...

I keep grasping Grimy dispair caked under broken fingernails Dragging My own dead weight towards the finish line Of your race that I swore I'd stop running a thousand years ago I'm wising up The carrot you dangled Tantilizing love Has been devoured by the parasites Who follow your every proclamation Queen of the Righteous They hail you While I wonder With them stripping you apart Fiber by sinew Will there be anything left?

I love to read you, Run my finger softly Down your soul. Close my eyes, Measure its weight, Decipher substance. Can you fill this Aching hollow? Are you man enough? And do you possess The heart of a hero, The patience of a saint?