just as you are
with flaws, imperfections
frustrations involve
spinning tops
on the hard wood floor
so close to an open door
fall through the cracks
like forgotten faces
eyes look around
in every direction
except on me
where they ought to be
spilling hearts
like a open wound
from my side
I love you still
even if you don't mention
the fit of my dress
the cut of my hair
or the way it sweeps
over my eyes
focused on you
No comments:
Post a Comment