Vague
Last night when the first
snow fell I was hovering
on the doorstep of
yours anxiously and
wringing my hands without a
dare to knock, even
my voice was laced by
unspoken poetry and
only stuttering
came out of my mouth.
I wanted to act; to love
out loud and fill the
space in between, but
under the shadow of a
doubt this void was made to grow.
Copyright © Diana Bosa | Year Posted 2016
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