To My Dear
Once more
I speak from no blind
Without arms
Without an edge
I wish all the while
The well was face to phase
You were once in the hunt
Yet it wasn't your scent I was after
It was your fallen words
Feelings
Like leaves that still a windy day
I remember that night
You hosted and hoisted my delusions
Pried my pride
With your rules and my rues
Shall a man be so shell shocked
At you
At the chill in the air
The wave of a pointed hand
The weave of lost tapestry
Unfinished
I often think back
At my metamorphosis
I was once told
Your dialogue
My dying on a log
Like tomorrows frog
To take upon a pond
And to jump into it
Logan Robertson
6/24/2019
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC
To My Dear
Once more
I speak from no blind
Without arms
Without an edge
I wish all the while
The well was face to phase
You were once in the hunt
Yet it wasn't your scent I was after
It was your fallen words
Feelings
Like leaves that still a windy day
I remember that night
You hosted and hoisted my delusions
Pried my pride
With your rules and my rues
Shall a man be so shell shocked
At you
At the chill in the air
The wave of a pointed hand
The weave of lost tapestry
Unfinished
I often think back
At my metamorphosis
I was once told
Your dialogue
My dying on a log
Like tomorrows frog
To take upon a pond
And to jump into it
Logan Robertson
6/24/2019
Of all the women I've met she was not the norm, or the spark of my eye.
Yet she was a puzzle. I couldn't figure her out, or come closer. It was looking at twin and that may have been the attraction. The irony being that that one chance encounter having a lasting effect on me, where I do often think about her now.
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