For M.

Should I bind up my feelings in perfumed packets,
Chivalrous words with which to turn the howl
Of anguish into song? I fear that it's gotten too
Late for that. I loved you once. I wrote the words,
And wrote again, when you had gone, to say I'd
Wait. I did, but, now, I am finished with waiting,
Also with love. I am livid with hatred for what
You've done, so chivalrous words would be wooden
And hollow. And perfume? Putrid, love.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2011-01-05 at 00:51

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