Saturday, November 22, 2008

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.

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