Sorry, Dear

Almost like that day when one wakes up,
And, after hours pass, discovers that the
Pain which had bedeviled him for weeks
Or months has gone, it has occurred to
Me that I have ceased to think of her.
Her chronic absence clouds her face.
Her unyielding circumscription of
The places, ways we meet, and
What I am allowed to say have
Changed the way I think of her.
She still would like a sycophant,
But I've discovered this one's not in love.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 73 times
Written on 2015-10-06 at 23:20

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