Disclaimer: As usual, I DON'T OWN SAIYUKI! In fact, I made up a poem about how much they're not mine.
Goku's sweet,
Like what he eats,
But owning him
Would be quite a feat.
Sanzo's fine,
Truly divine,
sigh if only he'd
Agree to be mine.
Gojyo's hot,
As hot as hell,
Hotter than I
Could evertell.
Then there's Hakkai,
Who always smiles.
For him I'd walk
A thousand miles.
Sadly, they're
Not mine to own
As it is
Below shown
THEY'RE NOT MINE!
P.S. the FOLLOWING poem is also not mine. It belongs to a Marga. Apparently, I am now a publishing service. Go figure.
Goku sighed in his seat. These parts of the trip were so boring. They had not been attacked by any youkai lately. And while it was a welcome rest, it left them tense, because it was like the calm before the storm. Another plus side to the recent peace was that it left him more time to think, something he was sure his companions doubted he could do.
He shifted again, discreetly staring at Sanzo. As he shifted, he felt the piece of paper he had in his pocket rub against his leg.
He had written a poem the previous night. Something he had never done before. It was, unsurprisingly, about his Beloved, Sanzo. He had thought of giving it to him, slip it under his door, but he was too afraid.
He nearly laughed in his seat, but settled for coughing. He felt his friends' worried glances land on him. They were in the desert, so whatever bug he had must be pretty bad to have him coughing in the middle of a freakin' desert.
Him, the Son Goku famous for his bravery (foolishness and his bottomless pit of a stomach) had been too much of a coward in the one moment where it most mattered. He had been afraid to slip a piece of paper (with a poem written on it) under a door. And it had been a good poem too. At least he though so…
Somehow, you became the picture
Of what I see in Perfection
Thoughts surrealism (Hakkai taught me that word!)
Took me up too far
But a bitten lip with blood
Brought me back
It told me nothing anyone dared to say
That you didn't love me in the same way
Sometimes I wonder why.
I think where, I think when,
Will you ever look my way?
Those stupid things I do,
Were they just to please you?
And as to how I feel,
Why, I don't know
Why is this feeling
Only of love
But when did it matter what he thought? Supposedly, hedidn't even think. He was just there,
A piece of paper in his pocket
His heart on his sleeve
Eyes to the floor
Waiting
For something that might never come
PLEASE REVIEW! '
I
I
I
I
I
\/