A stream over rocks
mimics the way
the breeze brushes past trees
and taps at my windowsill
It’s almost too quiet
Among half sober, half lucid professions
Entre murs, deux par deux
Hiding syllables I might have said twice
I wanted to tell you
But then changed my mind
So inopportune words
fold into a breath
And melt into murmuring rain
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 10:19 AM UTC
A stream over rocks
mimics the way
the breeze brushes past trees
and taps at my windowsill
It’s almost too quiet
Among half sober, half lucid professions
Entre murs, deux par deux
Hiding syllables I might have said twice
I wanted to tell you
But then changed my mind
So inopportune words
fold into a breath
And melt into murmuring rain