C’est vrai my heart
hasn’t changed at all
toward you it’s
you’ve just noticed
I don’t love you
like you love you
I understand chagrin
if there were only
a language without
postures and rumors
and writing wasn’t
figure skaters
ice-fishing way out
under Polish stars
I’d tell you that you
don’t really love me
at all as you imagine
it’s how the heart
sniffs and licks
the world touches
its several parts
but lets the blood
slide through.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment