Send me a mile high hurricane
that won't feel any regrets
because I'd give my roof and car
for the next disaster not to be
like the last one.
I didn't like when you were a machine
but I knew you had to be;
I couldn't do it again,
watch you carve your meat,
put the squares into rows,
and stare at them a while.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment