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Saturday, 23
by Melanie J YarbroughWe are sounds at night,
cold concrete steps that reach through my dress,
and the heartbeat I can feel in my thighs.
We are nothing,
more than anything I know or understand,
and not as close to the end as I had feared.
You are convinced that saying it is not wrong
makes it right,
but I can already feel myself slipping. 08/24/2008 Author's Note: I'm afraid it's too vague. I am, it is, a work in progress.
Posted on 08/24/2008
Copyright © 2025 Melanie J Yarbrough
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Meghan Helmich on 08/25/08 at 05:44 PM it's a bit vague, but i have that problem, as well. i write cryptic poetry, i've been told. but sometimes i don't want to come right out and say it. there's a fine line there that i have not yet learned how to avoid. |
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