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Madly

I consider
sleepy couchtop evenings
segueing into sleepier morning rouses and cold car goodbyes
reveling
in a time the tune she sang favored me.

I regret
the improbable timing
of accusations, apprehension, surprise, and confessions
wondering
if the words I wrote were true.

Hers is
the chosen face in a crowd of admirers
recognizing favor in my tunes
I cannot look into her salty eyes
and everybody knows,
no, nobody knows
how much I care
how much she cares
how madly I wish tunes to harmonize.


Author notes

Author: wittier than lunacy

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Comments


  • cubert
    February 21

    Edit | Reply
    Reading this, it is surprising that you are only 18. I sincerely hope you never give up writing. You have a lot of raw, natural ability.


  • amaranthine lover gold member
    January 30
    Edit | Reply
    this is wonderful!