Wednesday, 13 February 2013

So It Goes

He caught you at your weakest

                a feast.                 I
                                                would have

built you to your strongest:

a toast, a meal.

Yeast and hops,
                malt-sweet:       rising

                                                to a silky beat.

You’re not a plate of meat.

You were enough to fatten my eyes

But now you’re gone.

No comments:

Post a Comment