DETRImental
The pulse of your touch upon my wrist
Spelled two years of delusion
In which an image resided
Like a flame in darkness
And became you
I hesitated to ask you
How you felt about your life
Or if you desired a wife
For you were an ideal
And I, an impression of a beholder
Who beheld only you
My thoughts were cloudy with your Omni-presence
Yours willing the arrival of 5.30
You never saw through
I fell
But you did not catch me
You were looking at your watch
It was 5.30
HOPE
I would go out-
If I had somewhere to go.
I would be a good friend-
If I had any.
Until then
I shall smile knowingly
And pretend.
madscribedotme 