Monday, 5 March 2012

Nicholas and Plato

You may claim
that we'll just be friends
And that is how
it was meant to be.

Ten years from now,
I will still want
The taste of my tobacco lips
to swill in your whiskey
while your anxious tongue
flicks your Monroe.

I will bend the crease
in the fiercest of your coattails
and stupidly wonder why
I burrow into green waters
at once shimmering and empty
To allow myself to see
my rough hands
grabbing you by the collar
And pulling you closer
To keep you away. Forever.

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