Posted in Poetry

Closed by L. M. Montes

Like a needle with a thread
I moved to access your wakeful head,
Such knowledge have you at heart
but would not give me or impart,
perhaps attempts were great in number
causing you to go and slumber,
or maybe thus I have no key
to open you and give to me,
please think me not too selfish
just that you I want to cherish,
my hand on yours I transferred
then you said I was absurd,
I yanked my hand away
to try again some other day.

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