The Next Day

I am not without hope since she moved out,
And, anyway, love doesn't usually end in just one.
It will wither in both and, like leprous digits,
Drop off without drama. That's what occurred,
So, I'm not without hope. Surely, someone
Will stir me, and these little memories,
Popping up, showing me us under blankets
To ward off the cold, on the lawn with the
Fireflies, down at the lake with our weinies
On sticks and our faces together, will fade,
Or they'll burn away, once there is heat
From another romance. Though there's
None I can see, rest assured I am not
Without hope.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2013-01-02 at 23:37

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