We met, both working
A restraunt slum shift.
She was my instant
Infactuation.
I was her- what if?
Or,
What if- I was her?
Our first impression
Ended awkwardly.
She dubbed me weirdo
Which sounds bad,
But she had a good point,
Because I watched her too closely
With an admitted gaze of lechery.
It was one of those cause and effect
Situations where the cause is affection,
And the effect is desperation.
I called her anerexic
Which sounds really bad,
But I added that it didn't bother me.
She laughed at my pitiful gestures,
And mostly ignored me after that.
I didn't really mind it so much,
After all, I wouldn't pick up a romance
Entitled "The Weirdo and the Waitress",
But I'd like her to read my poetry,
Because it means so much more than flowers,
A gesture that I will always refuse
To present her with- They're too over used.
I think I'd read "The Poet and his Muse".
ESTÀS LLEGINT
Thresheld
PoesiaMy life is a series of thresholds that I overcome through poetry. Love, loss, pain, regret, humor, irony, word play, and even sarcasm are as much apart of my life as they are central to my poems here. I am Thresheld. UPDATE: It's been quite a few ye...
