The Object of My Affection

When I called her, “comely maiden,”
She cried, “You're unjust to me.
To you, I am but a shell.” “A lovely
Shell.” “But nothing more, a pair
Of breasts, a pair of legs, of eyes, of
Lips, but, should I speak of even
The most weighty things, you'd
Stare at me, and fail to hear for
Wishing we would touch. Tell me
That this isn't so.” “What isn't?,”
Is how I replied. She shrieked, and
Rose to go.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 15 times
Written on 2011-02-08 at 15:10

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