Flock of
Flamingos
Cross The Sky
for N.B.B.

pink lips, ball point pen
blue ink all over them

child, her only pen
unable to make it write
takes it apart

in a room all quiet
everybody in it
wrapped in exams

her pen, her struggle
ink must flow
before thoughts could

instead of on paper
ink all over lips
pouting, pretty
worried, sullied

same lips soiled
with kisses, with pleasures
marriage forbids

twist joy out of tiny
juicy forbidden fruit

taste berries, cherries
moment to break apart

four lips, two share to part
art to perfect, stolen kisses

she had to dispose of that pen
she failed to fix

sitting opposite, one to spare
friends ever since

we were eleven then


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
9:12 p.m. 26.02.08