It's late, I haven't slept.
Seeing that book on your thigh
has given me thoughts. I have
been brooding for years, no
romantic fool in a Byronic style,
just a fool thinking what he
lost, pining after what can't
be regained, and now, I have
something to which project
what has been caged inside.
A fair muse, unattainable,
like those of poets of old.
Forgive me, it's not fair,
to think of you like this;
yet, a fool, I can't stop.
You are kind, you are fun,
you are sexy when you flirt,
and here I am writing poems
of making love to you,
and then, gaining strength,
writing ten more on
art and suffering and time,
and all the other things.
I gain so much, I give
back frivolity, little else.
15.06.2024
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse Verse Poetry Poems Poem
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti