Thursday, November 15, 2018

whim

It ends abruptly, a walk off
before the sentence is said.
That word that ought to
trip from tongue tip,
the taste of teeth before
the grin, the weight of want
the fist in your hair.
The wish you put in
your place, your face raised
as if in prayer, your grace
abrupt and aloud
saying please.

No comments:

Post a Comment

contagion

It’s the fix of the dead eyed acolytes, it’s the spell check urgency of the unachieved corrections trailing the moment like train cars all r...