23:13 - Absense of All
I'm tired of swapping secret stares
And silent touches, barely there.
Unspoken words congest the space
Where cryptic signals mark your face.
But then again, what would I change?
I've grown fond of our untold strange.
Your wandering hands have boundaries few
Your idle hands have work to do.
Copyright © Annabelle Jane | Year Posted 2011
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