A Love Poem of Linking Limericks
February 8, 2016
You don’t need to shed your clothes
To show me what I already know.
I’ve still an eye for you.
Trust me. I do,
So hands off those pantyhose!
You don’t need to show any skin
To stun me and reel me in,
For it’s not what’s skin-deep
That makes me leap
For you and makes my head spin.
Your curves you need not flaunt
To send my mind on a jaunt.
Head to toe, hip to bust,
Your shape’s a mere plus.
There’s something else ‘bout you I want.
Let me state my preferences plain:
I love you because of your brain.
You’re smart like a whip
And can think from the hip,
And that’s what drives me insane.
You can clearly think for yourself,
Unswayed by anyone else.
You’re not some bimbo
Who gets used like a ho
Just to end up back on the shelf.
You’ve also got something, you see,
Though you might be loud,
You stand out from the cloud,
Judging from what others hear and see.
You fear not speaking your mind,
Even if it may torch your behind,
You’ve got uncommon sense
Always at your dispense
For those victimized by the grind,
And though you try hard to be sweet,
You’re all ‘bout standing on your own feet,
Not needing a man
For your master plan,
Though you still have one. Ain’t that neat?
You prefer using talent and skill
To make things suit your will,
Too no-nonsense to toy
With the whims of some boy,
For you couldn’t care less for thrills.
You know what you want out of life,
Putting up with all kinds of strife
And BS ‘long the way
‘Til at last comes your day.
Such is what I love in a wife.
To Hell with the frivolous crap!
All that’s but a dire social trap
Of superficial fluff
And meaningless stuff.
Don’t let that fall into your lap.
Don’t succumb to the siren’s wail
And let all you’ve established fail.
You’re better than that.
Just stay on track
As your ship continues to sail.
Don’t sell yourself out to become
Just another set of boobs and bum.
You’ve worked too hard, dear,
Over so many years
To risk being linked to such scum.
You’ve worked too hard to empower
Yourself every waking hour
The conventional way.
Don’t throw that away.
That ain’t the way you bloom, my flower.
Leave the boudoir to the others
To doll themselves up for my brothers.
Let them walk that path
And suffer the wrath
Of society and their own mothers.
Just be your own kind of star,
For I love you for who you are,
And I’ll lament the day
Your brilliance fades ‘way,
As you outshine all else by far.
Author Pages: Smashwords.com