i thought i had a flitting hope
on a blanket in light i sat around
listening to your meaningful guitar
not hearing the words when i should have
however scary, however mournful
your hands full of dirt
making mountains as uncharted
as both our souls kindling in strange flames
i had callings long ago but they're not you
and i'm sure you have songs to write
but none shall be about me those are for
real people making passion, not a passing kiss
YOU ARE READING
late night thoughts
Poetrysmall poems written hella late at night while in quarantine when my mind is racing in endless sentences and i cant help it
