06-06-2023, 09:30 PM
Love, or the lilies
I saw your face:
a faint white glimmer
shone on the poems
I wrote in a room
above Fenchurch station.
When the heart was a hatter
driven mad by the natter
of songbirds in June,
was it love, or the lilies
of a smoke blue summer,
full sycamore branches,
the gardens in bloom?
This is bad.
Cliche ridden.
Ignore.
I saw your face:
a faint white glimmer
shone on the poems
I wrote in a room
above Fenchurch station.
When the heart was a hatter
driven mad by the natter
of songbirds in June,
was it love, or the lilies
of a smoke blue summer,
full sycamore branches,
the gardens in bloom?
This is bad.
Cliche ridden.
Ignore.