Beau
I miss the way his fingers spin
Like the daisy colored spool
Off the kitchen table
He sings in a gruffed tone
Below my ears
Injecting that beauty
Into my neck
He's not some brooded lost soul
If anything he's the sun
Shining through the bleached curtains
Of a film noir hotel
Shedding some secret
No one told me
I love you
And not the mirror you dress in
Its those moments without
That I remember.
Copyright © Aislinn Monahan | Year Posted 2010
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