Whirlwords
when you enter this room
you will meet us
you look at our faces
wearing different masks
when you smell us
you begin to think of dog's hair
you will be confused like a swirling door
we anticipated that from the beginning
scents interchange and
manners well studied get unpredicted
each gesture is mastered but
switching hands become a habit
you try the way we sound like moooo
listening carefully we waver for another idea
we anticipated that too
we have exchanged our tongues for some lips
not to be outwitted
you listen to the beatings of our hearts like native drums
you have heard everything from 'asshole' to 'zezbomba! '
now you have known me but who knows if
i have filled myself like a hot balloon
and then i am no longer there except the grass and the heat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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