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jp-gossPoems
7. [Let this be a gift, my lover not met] Let this be a gift, my lover not met This shaky sonnet of weak, boyish hands With eyes that gaze and trembling mind beset I live up the dream, stupidly make plans Await as your gentle brown hair flits by Marvel the saccharine scent of your air Contrite by the mind bewitching my eye Guilty for my presence in yours, unfair Your lithe little hands in my crumby own And cute red lips pursed with naïveté Pouring out poetry like pregnant tomes And you’re wisdom abundant, be it may Be you different with quirk, an odd one please And I’ll always be the one who n’er flees.
0
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
7. [Let this be a gift, my lover not met]
7. [Let this be a gift, my lover not met] Let this be a gift, my lover not met This shaky sonnet of weak, boyish hands With eyes that gaze and trembling mind beset I live up the dream, stupidly make plans Await as your gentle brown hair flits by Marvel the saccharine scent of your air Contrite by the mind bewitching my eye Guilty for my presence in yours, unfair Your lithe little hands in my crumby own And cute red lips pursed with naïveté Pouring out poetry like pregnant tomes And you’re wisdom abundant, be it may Be you different with quirk, an odd one please And I’ll always be the one who n’er flees.
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jp-goss
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
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