night owl
It is twelveShe visits me in odd hours,
She always comes so lightly in the afternoon
But at night she never comes.
I lay in my bed for her,
I long her tuch and her next to me still she does not come,,,
She is the lover that I hate to want
Still she is the one I crave when I am alone.
She substitutes guilt ,
She is also the one to let me in into different worlds.
she is my "Thomas" and my narnia seems farther away than a closet.
It is one in the morning now.
I feel silly thinking of where she is tonight.
Who is she horing with
Who is she sleeping with
She always let's me know she will be late.
She always let's me worry over her.
When I am asked why so tired,
I shy away since it is her fault I wait so late...
Poetry by grey
Read 340 times
Written on 2009-05-24 at 10:59
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