Don't Do Blogs

All day, all day long, I've been getting the same piece of lip from the tongue.

"Don't do blogs. Instead play chess, or fetch yourself an ice. Outside now it's simply warm and nice. Little goes on in the office, and your blog - what point, what profit?"

There the tongue lolls, red like a devil, as sultry as a muse. Now its whispers have burgeoned like a bruise. The legs ask to be lazed about on a desk. The brain request nothing more than the routine as a test.

Just show me naked women, say the eyes, while the stomach mentions something about pies. The bare left wrist envies the wall - with its decoration by a standard clock, while the knees cannot even be bothered to knock, as all-in-all, the world spins on.

"Lethargy and laze," mutters the whole wide body, in some weird daze.

"Don't do blogs?" I ask back. "But, look. It's done."