Wednesday, January 4, 2012

I Await Your Pocket Hermes

I wouldn't say I'm lovesick, but I might be sick of this
Shoulder-based refrigeration. You just froze me to a crisp.
I get away so I can melt me; you tease with hope for better fate.
Are you truly indecisive? Have you a sadist's urge to sate?

Once thawed and froze, now cracked and weary, I resolve to make me plain:
I think that we should be together, that we both would stand to gain.
I await your pocket Hermes. I hope that he soon comes to call,
But if he doesn't come with haste, I will not answer him at all.

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