A journal, music, window-pane; she writes
Or scribbles only after the echoes:
A careful lyric, dew marks framed outside;
Then signs Discontent as her pen's let go.
She sighs--are your daily echoes expired?
My lovely literate, is it routine
To think wisdom already twice transpired
When you are sat down and put to a mean?
She sighs, and I ask why air is not spread
Like our desert beside has long awaited
A rain without its shadow--to be spread
Entirely, in the lips of one unbated.
Put your pen down, sigh onto me
And find your sighing is not empty.
These, beauty, are the thoughts I have
Upon thoughts you have.















Comments
--
Coffee = orgasm for the mouth.
--
As a matter of personal respect I have never quoted anyone I did not think was more clever than myself which has, until today, made me seem very foolish.
--
Coffee = orgasm for the mouth.
...and how she probably wouldn't care, because she's pretty much disappeared ever since I gave this to her, haha.
You're right, it's sad
--
As a matter of personal respect I have never quoted anyone I did not think was more clever than myself which has, until today, made me seem very foolish.
--
Coffee = orgasm for the mouth.
Previous PageNext Page