The Conference

Different venue.
Same people.
Same words.
Same ideas.

Pats on backs,
whist the knife waits.
Chicken on sticks and
those vegetarian things no one likes.

Questions and answers,
answers and questions.
Drawing prety little circles,
flow charts and post-it arts.

The conclusion?
We need more money.

Secret Promise

We are forever Trever.
Your whistling whispers,
sweet as strawberries drenched
in honey.
Golden, silent scent of a beautiful woman.
The touch of her emerald eyes,
in my mind every minute.
Oh crap,
I’m doing it again.