Tuesday, November 11, 2014

November Poem (draft)

I wanted you,
but not
enough

to grant entry.
Now every
November,

you fall back
into memory,
like

some sickly foliage.
I still
smell

your uniform, imagine
what it
would

have been like
to touch
your

collar, that place
on your
neck

where skin met
twill, stroke
it,

kiss it, then
run like
hell.
Post a Comment