The Missing B
That girl was always such an itch
She affected me deep down
In a place I could never scratch
She made my heart eat
Faster than a locomotive
Yet it was never ever satisfied
There is a missing room
That sweeps through my memories
We had spent many hours there
I thought she was right
She illuminated the room
Yet I was covered in her darkness
She could not lend
Her thoughts too precious
We were always oil and water
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013
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