In the dead of night
Amazing to hear the scraping
Old metal hinge as the portal
Of your too long neglected secrets
Groaned open to spill
Its contents directly
Into my wide and willing heart
Which gushed back hope it held
More amazing still your muriatic
Mop-up of all we shared
There must remain a stain
Of me on you somewhere
As I can still taste some of you
No comments:
Post a Comment