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pancakes
by Jared OrlandoLately
you don’t feel like mine,
somewhere in between
an IOU
and a bank loan.
When I wake
and find
your eyes,
I think of when
I have to give
you back,
how lonely
that will feel.
But while I have you
I’ll make you pancakes,
overly buttered
out of desperation.
I’ll kiss you
behind the ear
and leave my
secrets there.
I’ll hide your car keys
and your shoes.
I’ll break your sunglasses
in two.
I’ll fling closed
the blackout curtains
so you can’t see
what is out there.
You’re falling asleep
next to me on the couch
and I lay awake
in fear
that you’ll wake before me
and return to where
I took you from. 02/21/2016 Posted on 02/22/2016
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 02/23/16 at 06:05 PM Fascinating study in possession, a fore knowledge that it is ultimately impossible. Loved the ordinary act of offering pancakes "overly buttered out of desperation." |
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