Friday Night in Omaha

I would be speechless, but for this,
A bourbon, as I flounder in your eyes.
I think I've planned to drown, and,
Heedless of the noisome duties one
Of my position must expect to
Undertake anon, I want no more
Than to be yours tonight, tomorrow,
Maybe ever after, though I have my
Doubts. You're lovely, yes, but much
Too young, and somewhat shallow,
I believe. You seem enamored of
Your phone. You know the lyrics
Of the thumping songs I'd pay
To never hear again, and, when
I say I wonder who'll prevail
In Syria, you stare at me as if
I've farted. I have not. It's simply
That I'm not so glossy as you are,
And also not so self-absorbed.
There is a world past this bourbon,
Past your eyes, and past whichever
Bed we end up rutting in. It seems
You're unaware of this, and that
May work out well for me, but, as
I think, and you do not, I'm
Speechless, but for this.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 35 times
Written on 2013-12-07 at 01:11

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