At Some Point, I Suppose That We'll Get Out

Jesus, J, have you looked at the time?
It's almost eleven, and we're still in bed.
Our suitcases sit on the dresser, unopened.
Our shades being closed, we can't gaze
At the sea (and respectable lovers who
Dressed, and had breakfast, and now
Are out strolling the beach). We should
Have saved money, and stayed near
The airport. The place where we are
Doesn't matter, it seems. I do love
The ocean. I even like breakfast,
But sitting here holding you, catching up,
Laughing, appears to mean much more to me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 92 times
Written on 2018-03-12 at 16:00

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