So, like I said, I
Am writing you a letter,
From the house I built with your knowledge,
Wearing a knot in my neck
That you passed along.
October hands me a plum,
On days continually crisp, with
Breaks from heat in the
Form of a day at
19°, a brisk breeze.
Between us is
No good order,
No manicured nails or
Perfumed perfection,
No cops or lobbied politicians,
No perfection,
Just
Unshaven legs and
Tight, stubble-faced embraces.
When the days are
As long as ever,
We don't have time for
Arresting, vague words;
You need me to
Be honest, direct,
Even if
My duties lay with
The soil, waiting,
Not figured out,
Preparing the ground.
YOU ARE READING
Reader's Notes
PoetryA growing collection of prose, old and new, from the teenage years: stories, passing thoughts, poetry. Mental imagery and dialogues straight from thoughts to text. Feel free to leave a comment with feedback or pointing out a small mistake somewhere...
