poetry is like a little dreamin

tryin to squeeze

the last drop

out of a life non existin

and start a new drippin

with a another pen

where there are no limits

in natural bridges

to whisper goodbyes

to old shadows

like some kind of trick

it didn’t exist

as her life colored my walls

when she walked in

lookin so beautiful

teachin true expression

is more than just

an old fashion country teasin.