Fever

I've been sick, a frog inside a jar,
My sticky hands upon the window,
Watching bugs go by, and I've been
Lusting after you. I rewind reminiscences
Of you. I see you where we work. You slash
A box. You smile shyly when I speak, and,
If I could, I'd leave this jar, and have this
Tongue flash out to seize you, bring
You here to taste your flesh, but I
Am sick, encased in glass, and you are
Not another bug, and how I
Reminisce has nothing to do with
What seems to be: you are a princess;
I'm a lowly frog.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 79 times
Written on 2014-06-05 at 01:06

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