Again
I wonder what it could have been?
The taste left on your tongue
Of me?
Of something freshly eaten,
like a fine meal
tender,
succulent,
a succor to your ailing and desperate heart
I wonder what it could have been?
If a taste left on your tongue changed you
That left you as calm as the Zen breath that fills your mind
I'll leave you now
You have peace that replaces your rancour
I have nothing to taste
Nothing, my girl
No tenderness
No succor
Just an old poem to touch my lips
cul de sac
1 month ago
1 comment:
Fantastic. Put together like a man, a deep man, a torn man, with broken knuckles and a broken heart, who drinks at the One Lucky.
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