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                          Bubble gum

The sweetness, stickiness

 and tasteless becomes its names.

Each bite churns with the laughs of new taste,

 the sweetness sprouts like water found in draught.

With the tongue deceiving each bite into an endless fight,

the jaws are inflicting its treacherous wounds upon each bite,

The mouth watches with its mournful walls

predicting a future bitterness for its inmate.

With each secretion of saliva teasing up the process

and granting a fair trial to the sweet victim

it approaches its merciless death sentence.

With the teeth offering all deserving punishment,

the sweet denies itself ever being called by its name.

It has faded its sweetness by dinning by chewing with gladness.

We finding no adjective for our new love

flock with a bubble gum as birds

 for like a new love found it makes its bubble sound.

Flattered with sugar it becomes a princess in the mouth

 burying its slave tasteless future.

It has seen betrayal from its true nature.

The tailor

Patch over patches with hope more than much

 stitch marrying stitch and needles wounding fabric hatch.

Thread laughing within the holes of needle

 and striking blows not feeble.

 With fabric considering no decision

of  avoidable pains with precision,

 it shapes with no meddle.

Scissors tormenting material

 with intention of kissing good comments from customers,

 it dazzle its waist with style in mind.

Dreaming each night within the cries of the machine,

 with eyes bargaining to close for not being  achene

 and the soul demonstrating with placards of willingness to proceed,

 the body jerks itself in the chine.

When beauty of the end fall abyss

and the thimbles and needle fail to wimbles

then I begin to nimble for what is amiss.

Then let the end not amaze you

 nor should it bring  the hormones of your envy from slumber 

For with the best thread of color on the right fabric

the end is intriguingly no magic.