I want to be this
wet white dress
hanging alone on the line,
on such a gentle
Sunday morning.
Why do I want to be this dress
so badly?
Every time I glance it’s way
I’m surprised with the jealousy I feel.
I must be jealous of its peace,
I suppose.
It has no need to do anything
all day long,
except hang there
and sweetly dry
in its own time.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
I want to be this
wet white dress
hanging alone on the line,
on such a gentle
Sunday morning.
Why do I want to be this dress
so badly?
Every time I glance it’s way
I’m surprised with the jealousy I feel.
I must be jealous of its peace,
I suppose.
It has no need to do anything
all day long,
except hang there
and sweetly dry
in its own time.
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