Who Makes Me Lie? Poem by Pius Didier

It's twelve past nine, watching Wild
In the plasma next to my liquor, it's cold
My friend and I ain't moved, as we sing
All over sudden it stops, my phone ring
The thing sitted on me stretch, to answer
As I struggle something hit me out, bouncer
-held in the super jam, my sweet pie,
Twelve to ten I'll arrive, I lie-
Why do you make me lie?

It's winter again in north, unbearable
We charcoal to warm, with my apple
Then a beep vibrates abruptly, a text
-when is the next meeting, my pet? -
Unmoved she questions, the berry
(its a concerned servant, my Secretary)
-We shall wait for winter to go, I reply-
But my apple chuckles to swallow, the lie
Why do you make me lie?
Pius Didier