To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Unscheduled return My eyes know you, but not my tongue. My eyes are dry sponges, instantly absorbent. They are not called upon to speak. My tongue, however, licks the floor with my footsteps. And here I am. I don’t know what to say But, being here, perhaps I’ve already said it. What will you demand of me? A flower? I can already taste the dirt. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2005-10-06 19:51:45
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Wine, whine, wine.
Rita.