I'll sleep over another, brown box of these,
an ignorant set, of caramel nobodies.
Now we'd be muted, mend olive grief,
turning bitter, my quiet, peppermint leaf.
But its her behavior, vinegar and vague yet
resplendent, she assays dispirited speak;
elegiac by intention, a lifeless form of me,
we hold it back, sterile, sedate and weak.
No comments:
Post a Comment