You follow me around like my red ink,
From sink to work and back to sink.
You are the person who taught me to
think
That it's not nearly enough to be
friends.
You are my answer to every question
That every poet hates to love asking.
I am the face on the back of the milk
carton.
I am the face in front of you in line.
I am your future, arriving now at last,
But you're quick to settle for your
past.
No comments:
Post a Comment