a poem.

All royal blue and understated,

my poor heart became elated by the words you

gave to me, poured them down my

throat like honey (gave the gift of non-

receiving) as if you were

a bumble bee with a thorn built just

for me.

The soft of your hands was non-relieving,

took for granted all my

grieving, so I sailed your ship on a 

concrete sea

and relearned the art of make-believing.

   I'm rocking to a new one now, and slowly like

   that milking cow I trip and stumble like

   before, but now I know that less is 

   more than I could take from you, and I'm

   undone and you're to-do;

   I'm breaking hearts within my shoe, and holding

    one with hands unglued.

    Breathless are these birds tonight, before I 

    set them into flight so frenzied like the beast

    I'll be, and stepping up I climb

    that tree to where he meets me and we'll

    know that this is how

    our story goes.

    copyright amanda atkins 2008.