wet ambition

wet. ambition of her silken hair scatter my moral compass but after terse words we set out on the road her tale carries us for miles and leads to many thoughts but I'm easily distracted and distraught by soapbox celebritys and their rabid claims to fame and am left to letting her choose our path she pens regrets to me and mails them to the wrong address so ill never know her love for me has grown cold I befriend the postman putting the letters of my words carefully on his face with a fine line pen but he keeps whispering that I should be so sad because love has been rejected and my heart was returned marked postage due the description sours when the ink hits the page never quite suits the thought as we trundle along the stony path the bone rattling pace lends misgivings find my way home in the song of her heart find my weary way to her door turning the door inward and see the vault of her hearts fortress reduced to rubble ans she has now gone she has fled eastward wagon laden with tales and trinkets her blue dress flowing over the side and fluttering in the breeze wet ambition is no mercy wet ambition is cold

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Written by

mark-john-junor-1

62 / M / American

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