desk
pure acceptance
we’re at the frontline
of the exterior
it’s too late
you claimed birthing
ordinary detail is
disaster and a freudian game
away from the climate of things
the love affair on TV is play
it’s control
seated, standing, lying naked
on your desk.
silence
a breath
yes that’s me,
I need this.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.