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Sep 2015
My pen moves lethargically, when you are gone
My stomach is weak,
poisoned with thoughts of you and he,
not sad, no, your caress, his,
dare I moan a wish?
To be yours, and you mine…
To lay with you, rest…
To siphon your stresses into a jar,
seal them tight.
And then, we’ll scream together,
as we act, react, and sway,
they’ll scatter, shatter, deep… in the night.
Trying to find my muse
Written by
Steven Fried
270
 
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