You dip your
flawless posture
into the hot bathwater
and wait for this miscarriage to tint
everything scarlet
Yet it doesn't

You expect the dark pattern to grow in the ceiling
an orifice to appear
to engulf the dampness in your chest

Nonetheless the world
does not seem to have noticed
What you have lost

The tap just seems to keep on dripping
‘So tomorrow’ you say
Tomorrow he will call

Poetry by CC
Read 647 times
Written on 2009-03-04 at 13:46

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email
dott Print text