Tickling funny bones
Up to the bare bones
I’ll dig a wig
jammed
into the wood
Without bones in my legs
I’ll work my fingers
to the bone
Having no bones
to pick with no body
the bone of contention
will be cut to the bone
Bone dry
I’ll thirst
a pastor talking to a brickwall
a voice crying in the wilderness
Bred in the bone
all skin and bones
affected to the bone or boned
by life, love and dead
Close to the bone
make no bones about it
for a hard word breaks no bones
it only breaks hearts
or bone China.
mlaure
archived poems | album of verses | about Robin | about mlaure
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