Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2013
His fingers play the bass,
Just like I wish they would
Rustle through my hair.
His eyes look up at me,
And I look down in despair.
He must know that I like him,
He looks back at me as if so.
I wish I could go up to him,
And say a simple "hello".
R
Written by
R
Please log in to view and add comments on poems