The Writer

He wrote his own obituary
For the words come out right
His will said he had no heir
For he never owned enough might

He wrote to complete his story
Lest it should be misinterpreted
By the flickering candlelight
Every night to himself he read it

He wrote on stacks of bar napkins
As light as his heart heavy
Fallen legend with little fortune
Toast to last days of fake merry

Time flew, none on his side
He failed to be anyone's bother
'Cause he wrote and he wrote and he wrote
But never could read another

Four posters and inbetween

*Non-Haiku alert*

There you are
The open door
Here I am
Anticipating to explore

Resistance makes worse
Countless logical deductions
Risqué dangerous callings
Voices of seduction

Hands of God
Lips of devil
Skin of child's
Eyes cause peril

Whimpers of pleasure
Escape the mouth
Between the sheets
Moving further south

Erratic lost breath
Sweet nothings murmur
Dizzying the head
Four glasses bourbon

Dusk to dust
Haltings can wait
Dewdrops after dawn...
It's too late

Written, not forgotten

He once said
"You will rule the world".
Funny, how he fails her