Driftwood

Oh, what oak! I exclaim fiercely to a door;

Made of maple I can only hope I wasn't seen;

Director's cut would have me pour my guts like Saw, before;

Revisit every line I wrote in hopes to not repeat;

Some doors are revolving, open one way, even sliding

Scattered thoughts laying bare naked within sheets;

In hopes, I think to open you I'd wrap around like Ivy;

My touch alone is poison so I dare not try to squeeze;

Gentle pressure, gentle giant, gentle is your way;

Some would tend to be stronger than they seem to be;

Simple pleasures, simple giant, simple starts the play;

Paddles aren't needed when you're playing in the creek;

Driftwood tends to bring a certain beam;

In the daytime, driftwood dreams