Your Gift

Your man, as you well know, is short
Of patience, tense, compressed and
Coiled; prone to overdoing things,
And, subsequently, filled with guilt.
He's said he loves you, and he does.
He's too wound up to tell you lies,
And, even though he understands,
Somehow, through surging synapses,
That you cannot be at his side each
Moment, how he hates the thought,
And rages. Your man is a wreck,
But, sometimes, when he hears
Your voice, or even when he reads
Your words, he pauses, almost
Stupefied, and he is, briefly, calm.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 67 times
Written on 2015-03-23 at 09:42

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