Come, Look Over My Shoulder

There isn't anything here, you know,
A woman's image, made of words,
A love that lingers in the room, so
Like the scent of someone gone,
Some marks on a computer's screen,
Which detail when she went away,
A man, at keys, who's hoping not to
Break and crash onto the floor to
Start to shake and weep for all
That won't be back, he knows.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 65 times
Written on 2015-10-05 at 00:15

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