Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Honest to a fault

Honest to a fault.
Never know when to halt.
You're the wound—I'm salt.
Age old scotch—triple malt.

Drink too much, you'll get drunk.
Think I'm some kind of punk?
I'll put you in a funk.
In a funk, not the trunk.

Do I scare you so much?
Like a foot on the clutch.
Is my presence a crutch?
Will you give me your trust?
You're ignoring the lust.
Like a plane, you need thrust.

Only then will your wings,
Lift you up like a king—
On a throne up above.
That's what they call true love.

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