drinking much poetry
drowning in tea
and patting my back
each hour i don't call you
still my thumbs itch to text
or glance at my inbox
so i hide my phone in the top drawer
under my panties & go paint my nails
ferreting around these colossal towers of minutia
i've built to hide myself from you
and your irresistible gravity
1 comment:
your suffering will be Vast... it May Befall a Soul to Die...and None will answer your cries. None.
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