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Numbers of love
A night slipped away,
one wept to sleep, one had bunches to dream.
A couple of lines the poet wrote,
nothing that the muse saw.
Three simple words kept the lovelorn up,
four texts sent for a clueless hope.
If love has numbed five senses,
then the sixth one will be gifted.
The seven deadly sins, hunger for love could be all.
The ninth day of forlornness ate the soul up,
isn’t it already a punishment?
Perhaps the love in October was forever a torment.
Copyright ©
Sophie Nguyen
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