He speaks French
Turquoise water down that little trench
I got my gaze in, emotion deep
Would it really hurt, if I just peep?
He's the ink that keeps it blue
Minds, yeah they sync to sink too
Memories carve through me like a gorge
I'd hate to see, a love being forged
Uncalled for sentiments, on this little park bench
That day he spoke real, good French.
-Al
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Author:
Alan R (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 8th, 2024 00:55
- Category: Short story
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
Sometimes it is better said in a language we don’t understand. Uncalled for sentiments can be painful. This is how your lines came across to me Alan.
Painful, if not reasoned with...
Thanks alot for stopping by and reflecting upon this piece 🙂
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