Little Lost Love

queer-with-a-pen

Your boots are by the door,

my love. In hopes you will pick them up again.

 

I think of your feet, so small.

Toes curled up against holey socks, so cold.

 

We could have been a city of two, my love.

But you lost your passport somewhere along the way.

 

Sometimes it feels like your boots are

all I have left of you. Worn leather, whispered promises.

 

You said we would be forever, in the way

that kids believe that so wholly. But forever is a long time, my love.

 

And I put my boots next to yours, my love.

Tie the laces together like hands holding tight.

 

I brush the cobwebs off your boots, my love.

Head over heels for ten years, hasn’t quit yet.

 

Phone buzzes then, your name on the screen.

The text says you’re back, my heart says you’re coming home.

 

  • Author: Boaz Priestly (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 22nd, 2018 12:40
  • Comment from author about the poem: Hi, I'm super gay *finger guns*
  • Category: Love
  • Views: 18
  • Users favorite of this poem: lea cobain .
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Comments +

Comments1

  • FredPeyer

    I like the way you structured this poem and the way you use the boots as a metaphor. Tying the laces, brushing off cobwebs, very nice!
    But that last line is the best!



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