Distracted, how can I?
Voices, raging in my head, struggle.
Not voices, thoughts.
She pays attention.
In front, behind her, I copy the words.
Annoyingly, not in my head, a voice
Monotonous, it bores.
My eyes, along the stripes, follow
The contours of her shirt.
She shifts.
Her hair, golden, brushes my hand
Parts are, by pink folds, swallowed.
Copyright © 2008 by Layne Cockcroft
All Rights Reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment