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Argument #1
by Indigo TempestaI want, on your Stevensian
young Wertherish morning bus
to fold your hands and thing of me
in wet paper and pencil. Very carefully
so as not to tear, think of me. Let there be some second
it was so, since you are after all only my
very dear friend.
Rake, for posterity
your hair back from its posturing
attention. For a bus ride's time, pretend
all our accounting sums something,
tallies to real fingers
and miniature curls,
with us and never to
be, pretend our burnt
intentions carven
there. 01/31/2009 Posted on 01/31/2009
Copyright © 2024 Indigo Tempesta
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 01/31/09 at 07:01 PM You are a unique writer, using words that I know not of that completely thrill me upon reading them. ~ Jill |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/02/09 at 03:54 AM That's a hell of a fascinating, brilliantly written argument. |
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