7:01 Am On a Tuesday Morning
i watched the sun come up this morning, and my first thought was that she wasn’t as bright as you
(but really, i’ve yet to find something that is).
and it’s so incredibly cliché, that i’m a poet lost for words, that i feel like a ship without an anchor,
that really, i’m just drifting.
and darling, you’re not an object, but i’d really like you to be my rope.
and that sounds horrid, i know.
and i’ve written better, i’ve been more articulate, i’ve done better
but you’ve got me at a loss for words and my brain is fuzzy.
so while i try to get a grip on things, while i try to put the puzzle pieces of what used to be my brain back together,
i’ll write you better poems
(i’ll write you all the poems).
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