I pick that piece of paper
smooth it over my thighs
my palms leave sweaty marks
smudging the words
I shift the superfluous sentences
a semblance of sombre sobriquets jumps
out. as I reach out to strike out more
I hear a voice say out of nowhere-
"don't cut it slack for slickness and sleekness"
I pause. the paper tears,
I watch the words fly away
they will gather from the clouds
hoard it all for me
they are champions
for my impatience.
if there's one thing I have learned
"sleekness with slickness can't let to be slack"
I credit the sentence don't cut me slack for my slickness and sleekness to, well, he knows who! I simply edited it a bit.