They taught us in primary school to rhyme;
One million separate identities of the lovesick took it as an invitation.
You might think that’s a rebuke. It is not.
It is meant as an invitation. Every word, in weft and weave,
In wave and tide, in sigh and heave.
It calls for another to love us. It tells us to never love again.
At the first breath of rhyme in elementary-
Some nonsense about frogs and banks and water over our hands
We are hooked. We are starving. We are addicts.
We want to chime. We want to sing.
We want to love with words.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
They taught us in primary school to rhyme;
One million separate identities of the lovesick took it as an invitation.
You might think that’s a rebuke. It is not.
It is meant as an invitation. Every word, in weft and weave,
In wave and tide, in sigh and heave.
It calls for another to love us. It tells us to never love again.
At the first breath of rhyme in elementary-
Some nonsense about frogs and banks and water over our hands
We are hooked. We are starving. We are addicts.
We want to chime. We want to sing.
We want to love with words.