Friday, August 13, 2010

the spill

I see that you're tired now
You seem to sigh with every step and I
Can sense your defeat and empty loss
You left me a note the other day but
We know it means zero when words
Always come easy for the writer just
More letters stitched together in the most
Perfect of ways

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I like the way the words spill in the poem.

ojv