Tuesday, March 3, 2009

You straighten my hair. You make me swear.
You curl my toes. You stop up my nose.
I think I hate you!
You make me weak. You kiss my cheek.
You make me dream. You make me scream.
I think I hate you!
You are a temptation. You are an aggravation.
You are trouble unalloyed. You are schizoid.
I think I hate you!
You are my hearthrob. You are a thingabob.
You are a catastrophe. You have mastered me.
I think I love you!
Count Sneaky
There was a lady named Sue,
Who went to get a tattoo.
When she came out,
She said with a shout,
"He had designs on me, too!"
Count Sneaky


sharley said...

I'm trying to decide if the poem comes from a schizoid lover or a borderline personality. Loved the limerick.

Count Sneaky said...

Thank you for the kind remark. Actually, it comes from a fevered brain immersed in fantasy and lost in the collective miasma!
How you like them words? Count Sneaky

sharley said...

I had to look up miasma. Shouldn't have quit reading "It pays to increase your word power" in Reader's Digest.