Doodling with words

I doodle on edge of the noodle.   
A flower wears power then snitches on the boy.
The boy walks on paper hat, itchy as a tart.   
Where the clouds slips, I also lip sing aloud.
Latin in Manhattan, English is ticklish, like licorice. 
Maybe I should be eating a strudel instead.
Or canoodling with the whole caboodle. 

Instead I doodle oodles of wiggly lines
Curvy lines, vines, pines and nines
In the center is the sea of peas
Rushing, thrashing, blushing blue
Suffocating the dark is a spark
Grass grows underneath my teeth
Wheat is whey, milk is silky
Playing with words is swaying with birds.   



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~  A poem with no meaning but relies on sounds.

Picture credit:   here