One innocent spring
your voice meant to me
less than tires turning
on a distant street.
Your name, perhaps spoken,
led no chorus of batons
unrehearsed
to crush against my
empty chest.
That cool spring was shortened by
your summer, bold impatient
and all forgotten
except when silence
turns the key
into my midnight bedroom
and comes to sleep upon your
pillow.
your voice meant to me
less than tires turning
on a distant street.
Your name, perhaps spoken,
led no chorus of batons
unrehearsed
to crush against my
empty chest.
That cool spring was shortened by
your summer, bold impatient
and all forgotten
except when silence
turns the key
into my midnight bedroom
and comes to sleep upon your
pillow.
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!