Late afternoon, soft light, the asphalt still
glistens with recent rain, we walk
and you are talking, and I don't
even listen to half of it, I am thinking
about how easy it is to love you,
sometimes. Can't see much of the
sky in this part of the city anyway but
the sun is setting, it's pink and blue
in my mind, and I wish I could stop
thinking in colours for once. Wish I could
grow out of poetry, wish you would
grow up, there are still so many things
you don't understand,
but you are here, you are here and the
road is long, I don't know what you are
taking about. Its getting dark and I want
to kiss you, but we are here at the bus stop, and
you can't see the sky in this part of the city but
I wouldn't mind dying here, you know,
if it means I will get to see you again.
The bus is here, and all the way home
all I think about is us, and everything
we don't say, how difficult it is to love you
sometimes and how we could both do better.
YOU ARE READING
Doux
Poetrythe walls with blued body scents soft on the skin, the curtains drawn and a lover asleep close by. ...
