Hidden Meanings

Dabble dabble, ramble ramble. I am but foolishly churning out words.
Moan, groan, sown, thrown the rhymes that make for my verbal dressage.
Masquerading in a beautiful face to hide the featureless visage,
I can only continue on in the hopes you fall for the trickery.

I think before I write, but I write not what I think.
I am the Walrus.
I whisper sweet things in your ears and conjure magic and enchantment in my sentences.
Be fooled! Believe in my apparent substance, believe that I have a fair morsel of intellect.
For I know nothing. Then again, what exactly is 'nothing'?

Love or/and Lust

Believe me when I say that I have never met a girl like you before. Yet don't believe others when they say that, for they only mean it in the literal term wherein your DNA and chromosomes uniquely tell you apart from the entire 6 billion of us. For I speak not in the literal but dabble in the highly elusive world or euphemisms and metaphors. I call not an apple an apple, but a red pearl that gently falls off mother nature's tree. I speak forth ideas where its concretisation loses the essence and spirit of its meaning. Hence, believe me when I say I have never met a girl like you before.

In me, a rather insatiable urge to talk to you, in me, a rather repressed hesitation that there is but one shot in the barrel of opportunity, for whence discharged, has no chance of recompense. In me, idealistic urgings I extinguish with pessimism and a defunct disdain of hope. I am pained and you are ignorant. But yet, I am more than willing to have it the other way too. So I guess it has to be lust.