he is waiting,
nimble thumbs teasing the
frayed leather of his seat.
he is waiting,
distrait eyes sketching the
contours of the mountains
as the train propels ahead.
he is waiting,
for a sign that lifts his
heart from the pit of his
stomach
he is waiting,
for a sign.
he never gets off.
— aloha this was written by me in a matter of 0.002 seconds i apologise
YOU ARE READING
anthology
Poetry"human beings are works in progress who mistakenly think they're finished" © taekth 2016
