Talk not of lovers, I have had my fill
of silly boys and escorted misses
who cannot see a thing outside their will,
‘mid evening lights, exchanging their kisses.
Their eyes are focused on none but the one
beside them sitting here in this café.
The servers must tell them, “Time to go home.
Let us please sleep to be ready next day.”
The single lover holds her affections
in outstretched hands, a poor, inverse beggar
she seeks to give, despite all rejections,
to the nearest passing lovelorn lover.
The world waits not for fantastic wishes,
I would just like some help with the dishes.
1 comment:
It got real here.
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