and the sections I don't mention,
as without intention, its just the toes;
what have I done to fall so hard?
I get up, knowing you'd stay frozen,
as I'd dash towards the aspen;
my toes - dull, slowly waxed and shunned,
singing another acoustic version.
A knock in disremembered rhymes,
frosted egos in echo-less times;
an equal pretense gets waste
you moribund, paste my brief distaste.
These fluid strides result in quarrel,
while I panic, you gather and jangle;
and entangled, you travel away,
I pinned in my carrel, a horrid day.
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