"obligations" poems
I am a stranger to myself.
I do not know how to be gentle, compassionate, or loving, to any part of myself.
I have always been able to present myself well in most public situations,
be it work, school, parental obligations, parties.
I can be calm and level-headed.
I am able to problem solve in logical and intelligent ways.
I can be humorous and glamorous when need be.
But it seems as though that power and confidence,
that grace and strength, is only a mask.
I now have more days when that mask feels heavy.
And when I lack the strength to put it on, I have to hide myself.
And I’ve been hiding a lot lately.
I hid yesterday.
I am hiding today.
I hear the words of care that others speak,
but they don’t feel real to me.
Sometimes I can accept their words while knowing
that they do not realize that I am a disgusting person who deserves to be treated badly.
They see what I want them to see.
I watch them interact with the humorous Nita, the intelligent Nita,
and I watch it all from the outside.
I want so much more for myself.
Who is this Nita that is respected by so many?
I want to be loved and to feel love.
I want to be free from the father and the host body.
I desperately wish to be free from them, and not just in a surface way.
I want them out of me forever.
My soul cries out for kindness and gentleness
and yet when it is offered I cannot accept it.
I want to be respected and loved
and yet I do not know how to love or respect myself.
I know how to pretend.
I wrote the book on how to hide your feelings.
I know how to smile, I know how to laugh.
I know that I have been given gifts but I don’t know how to use them.
And the ones who were abused, ***** assaulted, degraded…
they are afraid to dream that there is more to life than this.
They cannot fathom that there exists a world
where they can be loved in a gentle way, touched in a way that does not hurt.
They stopped dreaming a long time ago.
I want to stop fighting so hard,
so much of the time...fighting myself, the therapist
the fighting stubborn one just comes out in full-force at any perceived threat
and I want her to stop fighting when there is no reason to fight.
I want to learn to trust in myself and others.
I want the chaos and confusion inside my mind to clear
and I want some sense of cohesiveness and togetherness inside of me.
I want to believe that there is more to life
than pretending behind an illusion of imaginary togetherness...
more than just feeling ashamed and degraded.
I want to trust that I am allowed to heal.
I want to believe that I am worth the time and the effort it is taking,
and the pain I endure every day.
I want to believe that I am not what they said I am,
that real love actually exists,
and that I am worthy of receiving it.
And even as I write this, there is that voice inside speaking to me,
"But what if you're not worthy, Nita? What if you are what they said?"
She is a big part of me~ she has a loud voice.
And if I don't believe in myself...
how can I convince that part of me that I am good and I am worthy?
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 5:29 AM UTC
Yeah I totally love being single!
You can do what you want whenever you want without obligations or having to think about anyone else you can flirt shamelessly with as many guys as you like, there is no pressure to look good for anyone I love that I have all this me time where I can spend a Saturday night reading and listening to the music I like without trying to decode mixed signals in text messages
I never have to depend on anyone but myself.
No one is stressing me out by depending on me.
I can sit by myself on the couch home alone when everyone else is out
And feel completely isolated, unloved and unlovable
I can feel so ugly and obsess over it
I can scroll through pictures of pretty celebrities and models and girls I know online bitterly wishing I looked like them and could be like them so that maybe someone would notice me and give me a chance
I can scream at the radio for playing stupid love songs
I can eat ice cream and chocolate wondering why I am such a waste of space
Thinking of all the guys who have rejected me and dropped me over the years
Have no one to love
Or who loves me
No guy I can trust with my secrets and loyalty
No one who needs me
No one to want
Or make me feel wanted
To spend nights together
Just talking
And watching movies
Being cutesy and flirty with
Lie hand in hand with
No one I can gush about to my friends
No one I can bake for
No one I can buy stuff for, just 'cause
No one I can do random couples stuff with
No one in my life
It's pretty great.
I love being single.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Since my breakup
I realized the importance
of threats from debt
wieghing down
a relationship
Since my breakup
I have made a promise
to not have one
monthly obligation
regardless the sacrifice
Since my breakup
I moved in with family
in order to save money
and paid cash for a camper
so I could live, rent free
Since my breakup
I paid cash for a pickup
that easily could last me
the next 20 years to come, not paying one penny to interest
Since my breakup
I have been saving
as much as possible
versus financing
MY AMERICAN DREAM
Since my breakup
I bought a sports car
that was the one to have
when I was in highschool
another goal Im proud of
Since my breakup
I have divided and conquered
all the debts and threats
of monthly obligations
and rearranged my desires
Since my breakup
I have realized what i want
and Im proud to say
I finally purchased
my own piece of land
Since my breakup
I have discovered
my desire to live simple
and my next mission
is to build a home on my land
BUY DIRT
Nov 15, 2021
Nov 15, 2021 at 10:18 PM UTC
Cellophane wings beating
against the heavy summer air,
back and forth, all day long,
the blue dragonflies
chase one another across the pond-
their tails turned up
like neon scimitars
poised for a ******
that never seems to come.
Occasionally, a truce is called,
and they settle into place
on opposite sides of the reeds,
momentarily oblivious to their war.
Twice their size,
the red dragonfly idles in the sun.
From time to time it leaves its perch
to challenge the silhouette
hanging from the iris blade,
its spent skin,
as if it were a bad memory
rising from the green depths of the pond.
Below the surface,
the fish school together- a current of gold
slipping between the lily pads,
each aware of its place in the stream.
My reflection circles them all.
Drawn to the water
that both mirrors and obscures
I lose my place for a moment-
hovering between obligations and idleness
on cellophane wings.
Tom Spencer © 2015
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
You told me you'd never leave but situations change, obligations change, priorities change. People change. I am unchanging and that's why I'm suffering. The place that I'm standing has had many visitors. I am a land mark and you were one inspired tourist but you're a tourist for a reason. Many people are interested for a moment but they find better sites to see as if I'll be on display forever. And maybe that says something about the way I live my life, but that says something about everyone. We are different. Changing and unchanging. Long lasting but never permanent.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
There once was a man who lived in a tower
He had orange skin and fools gave him power
His hands shook with fury at every critique
While his family's obligations were to remain chic
His head began to swell while his eyes grew smaller
But his silly little brain it began to falter
This was a man who thought ****** assault was a joke
Until Women around the world began to hope that he'd choke
Women gathered and rallied and screamed for their rights
They took to the streets in ***** hats and tights
The man did not like this, how dare they disagree!
With the world he was trying to create
Full of misogyny
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
living can be tiring and decisions regretful, so often we find ourselves
marching to the beat of obligations’ drummer – unnecessary paths are safely untreaded
doing only because the doing is necessary – to keep life at its homeostasis
fixing but not tinkering – the return to normality is the goal
just accepting these ************ days for their lukewarm livability
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:22 PM UTC
Samhain's Eve With Friends
The Lady's light is ripe and full and orange
so heavy the sky can scarce bear her up
as I tread slowly tap tap my staff clicks
my feet in their hurry crush sweet maple and acrid fir underfoot
and the early evening mist grasps at bare tree limbs like heart broken suiters
It's an early celabration Samhain Eve
No Matter
tis me alone and of course The Lady
Slowly I find my stone grove and rest a bit ... price of a Crone
No musicians tonight
Ah the tape will do well enough
No Sisters tonight
too far to come obligations trick or treat ...
No Matter
Circle swept and Caste,Quarters called
next all in turn music soft but building
insence sweet shrouds me
Fire my element crackles and spits with blessed heat
Time to steppe the Circle
This Dance I know so well
This Dance I have taught and danced and dreamt it always
Eyes Closed Cleansing Breathe
Bells on wrist and ankles chime
Now swaying stepping Luna's great course across the sky
once this way next reverse
slowly gently all recedes
there is nothing now but
me and She
She Morghanna Isis Gaia Mother Maiden Crone
My Lady
The flute is faint and hard to hear now
but the drum is strong heartbeat strong slow and deep
suddenly there are voices far yet whysper close
so soft full of laughter and secrets
..ghostly hands Sisters past, lost to me and spirits new entwine with mine and voices long forgotten soar
So Sweet
and my feet so clumsy and slow seem to fly and I hear the flute in the chime of Her laughter
She Has Come
Welcome My Lady
I hear nothing now but the drum and the rush of the wind through my hair
The Drum The Sisters The Fire
and My Lady
Suddenly my step slows no longer is it sure
aware of the stones beaneath and my hand blest but a moment ago now feels the loss of my Sisters grasp
but we are never far from one another
no matter the side of the veil
I tire and stop
the night has waned
the tape has stopped..when I cant recall
Never Mind
Close the quarters with thanks
Sever the Circle
Douse the smudge
and
Thank The Lady for a
Samhain's Eve , with friends
Solita Arcanes ShadoeWalker 31/10/10
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 2:50 PM UTC
When they saw her walking on the streets,
They saw oppression, dehumanization, and inequality.
Whilst they oppressed her with their vision
She wore her cape of grace, her drapes of black chiffon
Which also covered her face
free from all the judgment regarding beauty and ideals
the world was threatened by her walk
Although her posture was humble
She still walked with queen like grace
For she was super women and her Abaya was her cape
Her Niqaab was her shield form the worlds disgrace
And her Hijab was the crown she wore with all her grace
And she was a true woman
A woman oppressed not by her faith
But by society's obligations
She IS a woman empowered,
Empowered by her faith.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
The Talmud Teaches...
With respect to his son, a father is obligated to circumcise him, to redeem him [if he is a firstborn], to teach him Torah, to marry him off, and to teach him a craft...he is also
obligated to teach him to swim...(Kiddushin 29a)
**lay awake when the house is silent,
doing maths furiously in the head,
sleeping can be keeping while doing my calculus,
knowing in advance a conclusion comes coined
in only two colors, black or red
the question simple, did I meet my obligations?
and your read the passage for the umpteenth time,
and the same thought interferes as always,
should the order not be reversed,
the first thing to be fulfilled,**
teach them to swim
**based on experience life arrives in sequential, repeating waves,
purposed to drown the weak with no pretending that waters,
salt or sweet matters, so first order is business ought be survival preparation and**
teach them to swim
**if they can swim, stay afloat, then they can then comprehend
the glory of distinguishing right over wrong,
get their priorities straight, that saving others,
especially those you placed on the starting line of life,
is the first principle and overplants anything else when you**
teach them to swim
**my eyes see the tally, why, they are red! could it be lack of sleep?
I am smiling when I am lying,
teach them to swim always first,
but not enough, one must do it well, well,
and even then, better,
as all else will, from the well, follow, when you**
teach them to swim
3:10am
~~~
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse
One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference
To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes
Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus
That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation
Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies
For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation
An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions
Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses
As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet
Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression
Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity
In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry
The obligations of a universally shared human existence
Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims
For the enigmatic logic of life
Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought
From Everywhere and for Always
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
~
The Giraffe Cries
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Answering to no one, and
obligations do not exist, if unanswered.
I want plastic tubes of garishly pink lipstick, with their
greasy glitter soaking in the folds of tissues.
I'll take the hard edge off of my face,
dust off my gilded tongue,
and promptly kiss a bathroom floor
after consuming something illicit that tingles my nose,
before dying with your blade buried in me, inelegantly.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
I do remember vividly
The four a.m. conversations,
Feelings explained implicitly,
Plans made without obligations.
Toes dig into the rocks and sand
As we gaze up at the bright stars.
Nothing about that night was planned
Though it left us with unseen scars.
I remember the excitement
Of my phone lighting up the night
With your sweet words of enticement.
The fire in me would ignite.
And our flame was a bonfire
That lit up the world for miles
At once our warmth and our pyre.
We quickly burned with our smiles.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Places where we go and free our headspace,
spreading our hands and feeling the raindrops.
It felt like an unique amalgamation of fright, fury and pure joy.
Fright of all the obligations barged on the soul.
Fright of not being with the right people at the right time.
Fright of falling on our own feet.
Round & round on the playground,
with an overwhelming typsy feeling.
The joy of sliding on the slippery dip,
touching the sky hanging on the swing.
The breeze touching the feet, playing with the hair & ticking the ears, until we fear to fall on the ground.
The alarming feeling of how precious our life is.
The joy of constantly working on ourselves to improve in life.
The joy of keeping ourselves first.
The joy of not missing out & living in the moment;
The joy of emphatic long conversations,
The joy of selfless efforts with no expectations.
The joy of doing the right things,
always at an unsuitable time;
The joy of being intutive over calculative.
The joy of spending fruitful earnings;
& believing in karma.
Feeling no need to explain our way of doing things
& doing what makes us feel good about ourselves.
Absolute joy of not being too hard on ourselves.
All joyful things go wrong, because it is their job to.
We make all dreadful things right, because it is our job to.
It all makes sense now,
We must get up,
spread your hands,
feel the raindrops,
and say,
“We made it all worth.”
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
Dancing on a thread of silk - taut of pain,
balanced deep within the fear…
Swaying to the side in calculated energy,
breathing as the sweat begins to pour
Toeing the line with blinders on
only to face the evil waiting - miles above my last breath
Shambles become my life’s dreams,
as fifty or so exit the compact car below- all doors ajar
Pointing skyward with gloved fingers and flowered bonnets
they gasp - splashing red paint of severed smiles
and floating eyebrows, merely decorations placed by hand
and contractual obligations
The rings add up to three - yet left alone I find is me,
teetering of lost imagination and breath taking nuances,
blanketing the sawdust creations
of worries portrayed in a gallery of netted promises
It is calling now for my end - free falling with wings to spare,
a calliope whistles its crescendo beneath a tent
pitched and heaved in frustration,
riding the rail lines of someone else’s thoughts
Not worth the price of admission - I wave
as I exit this cotton candy dream world in search of the nightmares slowly unfolding
along platform bridges of age
and destined footpaths
The train departs…the giraffe cries
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
SPREADEAGLED
Bucharest,
*
Spread-eagled and naked
in her crop circle -
this one in a sunflower field:
she’s a wheel of limbs,
some sort of a ********
lusted after by the seed heavy
flowers bowing to her curves
like drooling surgeons.
*
She’s finished with running,
waiting for the fading light
to join the last of her loves,
faded with processed proclamations
of undying certainty
which were a little worse for wear
after courting
and checked into intensive care
soon after.
*
Love thought it had
ducked its obligations,
passed again
like a heavy goods train in the night,
shunted across the border
while guards waved it on;
interested only in sleep or beer.
*
But this time she’s making sure
love returns,
pays its duty and dues
and hits its target.
*
So, splayed
aryan and vigorous,
apeing a pagan
resurrection,
she waits
for the skydiver
who – with precision
confidence – happens
to be bearing down
on her charity target,
slowly filling her
with his ***** shadow.
*
She sunbathes under mirrors,
she’s a real
tough nut to crack.
I repeat myself into her.
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
1.
Inhaling poison like it’s a sweet spring breeze,
an antidote to the pounding heart and aching stomach empty of comfort or substance
Meeting with pavement in a tiger’s crouch
fingers float toward parted lips
awaiting the taste of relief in the form of smouldering leaves.
2.
One tentative epidermis approaches another
tendons and ligaments straining, aching for contact
attempting nonchalance in the lamplight privacy of early morning,
cocking ears to detect voyeuristic insomniacs
who would disturb the disorderly expressions of early experimentation.
3.
White lady dusting the concrete path, sterile and unconfined
laid new before careful feet making their way to shiny metal boxes
bundled in seasonal expectations they trudge through stardust
on their way to blood borne obligations,
leaving behind careless tracks in ****** flesh
4.
Blazing sun presses down on shoulders hunched behind compact table tops
peddling penny prologues to unabashed strangers
bartering unwanted pocket change for rejected trinkets
haggling over half-dried finger paints and unfinished chess sets
rescuing garish afghans from dusty closeted life.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
My eyes are beyond polluted
By the overflowing inanities
That paint wordless post-mortems
On yesterday's lost fantasies
Rolling over lifeless as dead certains
When obligations fall into disrepair
And the king of all invocations
Awaits power sitting in an electric chair
As darkness shrouds the uninspired
In triumphant ticker tape parades
While the bewildered beast becomes the feast
A million glasses in toast are raised
To the jesters unequivocally blasphemous proposal
To the queen of all frustrated converts
Who Once Upon a Time willingly surrendered
To the impresario pretender
Who fooled the world by laying siege on the empty house of cards
And with all the power granted
By the grace of obscenities triumphant screams
Separating me from reality by infiltrating my failing vision
With the polluted overflowing inanities of these cellophane dreams
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
Wine-soaked sundays
what a time to lounge
Wine-soaked sundays,
full of cheese and pearls
Wine-soaked sundays,
what an hour to cackle!
Wine-soaked sundays,
when the obligations melt
Wine-soaked sundays,
when we are softly raw
Wine-soaked sundays,
when ladies conduct "leisure"
Wine soaked sundays,
where the smiles conceal nothing
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
what i said:
"you sound rough this morning."
what i meant:
"your voice is lavender and honey and tea time and supernovas colliding with gentle breezes and if i could wake up to it, just once, cocooned in a tangle of your arms and couch cushions and that blanket you keep in the back of your car, i swear by the stars in my eyes no one on this godforsaken planet would be out of earshot of my singing
i hope that tonight when i dream of you--it is no longer a matter of uncertainty, but anticipation--you speak like you've just overslept your alarm and frantically motored yourself to where i am, like is the case today.
i wish you had chosen me but if i could only listen to you speak to me, about anything--rivers or math homework or football or belonging or music or even your girlfriend--i promise i would listen with the beating urgency of a swimmer in a frozen stream, i would savor each word from your lips, like they were the spring and i was the underground daisy waiting for your kiss.
and in precisely three days i will have an essay to compose about a beautiful topic that would consume me thoroughly were it not for the memory of your groggy morning voice, so full of raspy complacency i can't breathe but instead of fulfilling my obligations i will be hashing out halfway comprehensible poetry about you and crying about how i cannot recreate the sound of your voice with any combination of hollowly clicking keys.
you are so beautiful that i could spend the remainder of my life with a five-subject notebook, scrawling 'your eyes. your smile. your hands. your voice' over and over endlessly and die feeling as though i had lived a thousand years of quiet adventure.
you are so much and too much for me and i have no idea why you see as much in me as you do but i will not question it, for fear that if i were to come too close to you, to run my fingers along the marvel of your face you would shrivel and unfurl into nonexistence, like the leaf in the fire."
and also:
"why can't your voice always sound like this?"
and finally:
******* you're attractive"
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
Looking back at life brings on a shiver:
landmarks and stygian fragments,
radiant corrosion.
Will my feet still carry me home?
The morning breaks,
turn the blue skies on!
we're committed now,
guided by a God few know.
On Earth the math is made up,
8 billion people
and 1,000 questions,
out here the days
are numbered differently.
But in the ether aura
there are silent obligations:
we're trading passengers midflight
--the jester and the acrobat inside the LEM,
Marco Polo on the rocketship,
we're eating the survival kit,
making postcards of the trip.
All spoils for survivors.
Post signs for a near perfect disaster.
You are on my mind.
You are in my heart.
Are you in my blood?
I would die for you.
If this is goodbye, remember,
these things happen...
Jan 15, 2025
Jan 15, 2025 at 8:39 PM UTC
I want to know
does the soul
grow old
and tired
with the body
Because it once was pure
but now it seems
so dark and clouded inside
sad or mad, all is bad
fallen, and I can't stand
Ridiculous obligations
to unknown friends
that **** me dry
like flies do wine
until the glass is empty
I dream of love
I fear it more
I am just terrified
of hearing
"no"
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
I find comfort in the static of the record player humming,
the crackling of vinyl against its holding
your arms tucked tight around the curve of my spine
and waking up to the corners of your lips widening
this is a sunday morning
that I could relive
7 days a week
this is a feeling
I am near terrified of
but in a way that I need to be
see,
I have never been one for writing love poems
and when it comes to writing love
good endings aren't my specialty
I'm not one for spilling vulnerability
to then have to clean up the mess
after it goes without catching
I'm not the best at predicting future
and letting go
is an art form I am still mastering
I have never been one for writing love poems
especially not for those
who don't stick around
long enough to hear them
but for you
I am willing
to take the risk
to set aside hesitation
for the chance of lasting
to sacrifice my fear of heights
for the possibility of a smooth landing
I don't know you well
but I know you enough
to know you're exactly what I want
so I'll talk about your smile
how your dimples have quickly become
my favorite half moon to stare at
or the way you look at me
like a single star
in the middle of a busy Los Angeles sky
being enfolded in your grasp
feels like sun peeking through grey
how lightness makes itself known
even in the midst of rain
I want my skin
to find a home in your palms
and my laugh
an echo in the crook of your neck
for routine
to settle on the map of your body
from collarbone to knuckle to wrist
making a transparent dent in each earlobe
to be missed by my lips
to crave the caress of my hands
when they have other obligations
and I'll hope
that I can waste
as much time with you
as I intend to
although I'm sure
that any time we spent together
would be anything but wasted
I hope
that we can stretch these two nights into two hundred
weaving a weekend into something we can wrap ourselves in
this is me saying a prayer
the only way I know how to
I have never been one for writing love poems
but for you
it is all I want to do
to listen to the silence
and from it
form a symphony
to take this coincidence
and call it fate
to give out all of my honesty
and hope that you stay
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Dim sunlight coming through the curtains of my window this morning,
the ambiance feels just a little parky…
I stretch my arm to the opposite side of the bed,
nothing…
I believe I went back to sleep…
Woke up again moved by the sense of my obligations, half awake revolving…
My body longing for a touch of her calid smooth skin at daybreak,
coldness...
As of to reach her my eyes search for her,
my hearts looks for her, but she is not with me.
Did she get out of bed before me?
maybe she's in the family room (like she calls it),
drinking a coffee and reading her book.
I feel a smile drawing in my face accompanied by a warm feeling of content.
I want to go join her, my nymph.
Perhaps she's just laying there unclothed on the ****
or perambulating through the apartment doing her thing,
my muse,
that beautiful body of hers, seductive and alluring yet innocent and tender,
physique of a greek goddess.
My cellphone rings, it is her…
confused I hasten to get out the covers and sit in my bed,
then I glance at the picture of that hypnotizing graceful smile on my desk,
her farewell gift.
She's gone, I drove her to the airport yesterday…
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:58 AM UTC