Title*

by StandStill   Aug 23, 2012


I found the zenith (it is no bed nor building).

You talk in your sleep
of warmth, of banana muffins, sweaters,
(of haiku days being high with
you)
in a voice like the pleasure of
cold hands wrapped around a mug.
I wish you'd wrap around me
and never stop reading
Bukowski.

I dream speak maple bacon,
embarrassed words,
how I despise the proper way you never curled around me
or clumsy unthought kisses
meant to be done right.

[Return my sweater
in any way other than
the mail.]

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Latest Comments

  • 6 years ago

    by miracle

    I love this poem hon, its amazing. i can feel your emotions so strong in this one. great write.

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