Tuesday, January 12, 2016

My Bad

I have to tell this in poem...

For voicing nebulous secrets
to you;
things had idled too long.

Free-verse set to this pattern,
so words won't sputter and fume
spoken at you unrehearsed.

Your hands hold the gray wheel,
driving me as you are somewhere north
deep into the snowed-over woods.

Both of us have on our wanted look.  

But I just want to really talk
to you,
while you drive for once.

And this way,
I'll have something worth saying.



Anonymous said...

I like :-)

eric1313 said...

Thank you!

Anons always welcome.

Although, I don't mind writing poems and getting zero comments, too. Just like most of the blogosphere now settles in to do.