Too many pieces.
Too many little brittle bits
sit scattered among matters not-so-well-knit.
Spit tatters and see, shattered, what’s made of it,
My dear…
I’ll stay here in your world pearled by grit
Until my bones lose loam and find home in it.
to stay?
Comments
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Wow wonderful
tag youre it
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Short, simple and beautiful. As always.
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I miss reading your genius.
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This is tender and very chivilrous - a side I don't often see from you.
Nicely done. I especially like the fact that your title is part of the poem. It is not mentioned in the poem but upon reading the poem and re-reading the title, it explains the poem.
Nice.
John
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