by Matthew Zangen
Pore over beckon my sleepy desire
like a luckful hand passing giggles
too welcome to end in lasting days.
We have showered with compulsion, wet
with meaning flirting in our ways,
folding lists of ephemeral names.
See how they fly, dear,
quieter than they burn.
Soft as ember in you now,
I tow my latest feet
in comfortable circles with forgetful aim.
Love never means to quiet so,
but it can only speak in moments
Posted on 03/07/2020
Copyright © 2022 Matthew Zangen