I do know at least this much – I
don't want to leave –
But time bends under everything else I
think I believe.
The thought of you makes me manic,
impatient;
The presence seems to nail me wherever
I'm stationed.
I want to assert my own physical
presence,
To hold you close against me so you
can't escape it,
But forever...I'd grow restless without
steps, without rhyme,
and I know that besides that, I don't
have the time.
No comments:
Post a Comment