Teen Angel

Every time I see her on the carousel, I start
To sweat. I wish I was the horse she rides,
But every time I bring her here to show her
Sunshine's silver stipples on the river down
Below she natters on about herself. She isn't
You. I'd rather be with you.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 14 times
Written on 2011-04-30 at 01:55

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