Sowed my mouth while keeping you at arms reach,
knew I’d gnaw my arm off whole.
The shadow of every thought of you
Caused me to pause my clock at solar noon
The sun, disapproving the manipulation of time and continuity
Bathes you at sunrise and sunset.
I’ve even attempted memory loss,
But I’d brood over the fact--
May’s embrace succeeded in permanence
Through the fibers of my knitted brown sweater.
Your curiosity
Paired with my piss-poor responses
Still Stubbornly bled a yearn I wasn’t deserving.
Feigning indifference over a state of existent plenitude.
In an ardent plight, my love for you— causing an involuntary judder—
Clings onto the threads my knitted brown sweater.
But that’s what I secretly hope for, every time.
-
Author:
Adam Shirley (Rea) (
Offline) - Published: December 7th, 2025 12:52
- Comment from author about the poem: even stoics can't help themselves but feel
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Offline)
Comments1
What we preach and what we feel are often different and in that sorting out we discover who we are. A lovely write
Thank you, Soren, I appreciate your kind words
You are most welcome
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.