• Poetry

    by  • September 3, 2010 • To You, Waxing Poetic • 0 Comments

    The look on her face when I called you by your first name was terrifying. (This is where you’d tell me I need more concrete images.) Since then I’ve avoided your first name, even in that mediocre George Clooney movie.

    Your band was playing tonight and I thought about going. Instead I opened a bottle of wine and fell in love with that texture. I’m afraid to roll off the couch now.

    Stop telling me my poems are great. That I could be published. Maybe you’re just trying to get my hopes up for after graduation.

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