has a new look

Go to the new

Poetry by Nicholas Collinwood 




© 2004  Nicholas Collinwood




Across the table, incredulously,
She sat and chatted rehearsedly
While inhaling from vessels copiously
Why not?
It wasn't her dime.
With one fluid motion and consummate grace
She deftly extracted her compact case
And dusted away life to barely a trace
So what?
It's hardly a crime.
Her lack of intrigue far from a surprise,
Interested only in the her in my eyes
The only queries to value her prize --
Hey, my man,
A Corona with lime.
Why, some wonder, has it come to this?
Having never been cultured to put up with shit
The answer self-evident: She's got nice tits --
Excuse me, my dear,
Some more wine?




All work is copyrighted property of Nicholas Collinwood.



[back to top]  [home]


© 2004 SubtleTea Productions   All Rights Reserved