Goose pimples

I am just a rooster,
One of her barnyard.
She is a writer,
She is a good chef too.

She have arts, no pennies.
Fever in my heart, I love her.
We have pain.

I am a cock, a bite to eat.
I want to be at her taste.
But also a reader
Dreaming to be a book.
I don't want to be just cooked.

Goes simple! I am ready!
For paper, my skin,
My feather for pen,
My blood for ink,
My flesh for her heart.

Goose pimples!

Using a screen and a keyboard,
She has no pen.
Doesn't know my heart.
Avoiding the fever
She doesn’t eat chiken.