Poems from may_be
you were giving me directions with dish soap clinging to your fingers
ten feet from unseasonably bitter wind
and all of a sudden i was...
none of matters in the end;
i dont owe you anything.
not an explanation,
not an apology,
not a ride home from wherever you hid yourself...
as i was reading hemingway in the most grudging fashion imaginable
i got to thinking why his writing vexes my spirit,
and how we are all...
there is something about standing ankle deep in a near-frozen ocean
with warm sun baking my shoulders and steady winds throwing grains of...
i counted your bones as you placed them one by one at my feet
as a peace offering to the war raging between us,
and darling i had no...