My Voice
lost
Lost
I don't know how to erase my passion
or bare myself of your limbs and tongue,
without emptying myself of purpose.
The future turns toward me, absent of face,
offering no calloused hand
nor bony idealism
to trace freshness on meandering thought.
So i sit quietly
contemplating nothing,
quietly contemplating us.
Mary
I don't know how to erase my passion
or bare myself of your limbs and tongue,
without emptying myself of purpose.
The future turns toward me, absent of face,
offering no calloused hand
nor bony idealism
to trace freshness on meandering thought.
So i sit quietly
contemplating nothing,
quietly contemplating us.
Mary
Comment On This Poem ---
lost
lost