To me you cut like
Maple leaves no shorter than a song.
This willowed turf may never be as bashful
once you've gone
perhaps
this is so beacause my heart regretfully
declared to you my adoration
marked with a hyperbole.
Forgive me what these lips will wrought
though now's no time for regret
my darling once this verse is over
you'll rue the day we met.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
SHE dragged herself to the kitchen,
for it was not an easy task.
And neither was making coffee for one.
The kettle whistled, she woke from a trance
And the coffee was done just like that.
There was enough sugar for resentment,
and creamer to cloud its contempt.
But upon bringing the mug to her lips
its bitter taste had her recall,
the cocoa powder on the shelf.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC