Lunch?

I don't suppose that you will come
To visit me sometime this week.
You could, you know. Nobody's
Here, and forecasts say it will
Be warm. I'd make you lunch,
And we could eat outside, and I
Could listen to you tell me how
Your life is going, gazing at
The face I miss until it disappears
Again. I know we'd have a lovely
Time if you would come, but
I suppose you don't believe
You should.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 67 times
Written on 2017-02-17 at 23:48

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