she was a poet
who knows why
words splashed onto paper
filling pages
not pretty really,
dark throbs
truly curly
smoke rings
eyes on fire
isolate, desolate
world-weary wise
no one understands anyway
he was a comic
who knows why
pictures splashed on papers
alighting screens
not pretty really
surly truly
ticklish too
eyes of blue
dark, throbbing
isolate, desolate
world-weary wise
no one understands anyway
